


Mixtape for My Teenage Crush

by followyourenergy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Castiel (Supernatural), Carver and Becky as parents, Demisexual Dean Winchester, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, High School (briefly), Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Humor, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, POV Alternating, Physical Abuse, Questioning Dean Winchester, Rock Star Castiel, Rock Star Dean, Secret Crush, Slow Burn, Strong Friendships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 06:56:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 72,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11504100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/followyourenergy/pseuds/followyourenergy
Summary: Castiel Edlund-Rosen had a crush -- a crush that affected him enough to write a song about it and name his band after it.  His band, Mixtape for My Teenage Crush, was a rising sensation in the NYC area.  When they found themselves without a co-vocalist/guitarist, Dean Winchester, a fan and fellow student with natural talent and a horrible home life, auditioned.  That audition changed the course of both Dean's and Castiel's lives.Over the course of several years, through the band's burgeoning success and their own growth as individuals, Cas and Dean are drawn closer and closer together through friendship and something more.  When personal demons threaten the progress they've made, will they heal together or fall apart?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> The funniest coincidence regarding this story is that I started writing it way before the SPN episode in which Cas tries to give a mixtape back to Dean.

_February 2011_

Castiel hung off the couch, sipping iced tea and looking completely bored. This was getting ridiculous. 

"Who's the next one?" he moaned. 

"Guy named Al."

Cas started humming the old Paul Simon song, the one with Chevy Chase in the video. His father sang that song loudly around the house whenever it came on the Awesome 80s video show his parents favored on Saturday mornings. "Get him in here, I guess."

As expected, the audition was terrible. Cas cut him off halfway through and told him they'd be in touch. 

"Why did Zar have to leave?" Ash whined for the umpteenth time. 

“Because he's an idiot and got himself into trouble," Benny answered, also for the umpteenth time. 

"We were having problems with him anyway, Ash," Cas sighed. "I know he was your friend, but he wasn’t serious about this, no matter how much he tried to say otherwise."

"Neither is anyone else, apparently," Charlie grumped as she reviewed the applicants so far.  "Let's see... can't sing, can't sing or play, homophobic, flyboy, can't sing, tone deaf, full of himself, only wants to be in a band to make her bf jealous, can't sing, not committed, aaaand really can't sing for shit."  She tossed the papers above her head. "Sure you won't just take over completely, Cas?"

"I like having two leads."

"I know but finding someone who can sing, and play guitar, and is willing to commit to a band for the long haul... that's a lot, especially at our age. We could increase our chances for success if you'd just front all the time. Guitar players seem easier to find."

"I like being flexible."

"That's what I've heard," Benny drawled. Cas threw a decorative pillow at him. 

"Who's next?"

"Um... guy named Dean."

Cas sat up. "Dean who?"

Charlie gave him a curious glance. "Dean Winchester.  Why?"

Shit. He knew exactly who Dean Winchester was.

Cas sighed loudly. "Just curious.  He’s in one of my classes. I'll go get him."

Dean was nervous as he was buzzed past some guard in the gated community and approached the address he needed.  He parked on the street, not wanting to presume anything, and walked up the long driveway.  God, he really wanted this to work out.  Music took him away from all the shit in his life, and the chance to be part of an up-and-coming band in the NJ/NYC area was huge.  They were young – hell, some of the band went to his high school for crying out loud – but he knew, just by seeing them live, that they were special.  They’d already won young talent awards and shit, and the rumor was they already had a record deal whenever they were ready to sign, which for some crazy reason they hadn’t done.  He entered the mudroom of someone's house, the hand-scrawled sign "MTC Band Auditions - wait here" his clue that he did indeed have the right place. He wasn't sure whose house it was, since there'd only been an address, but he knew who was in the band, at least by name and sight if not personally. They didn't really hang in the same circles.  Not that Dean had a circle… couldn’t really count being by yourself as a circle.  He looked around the entryway and found his answer hanging on the wall.  A family portrait of some beautiful people hung near a closed door that Dean assumed led to the rest of the house. He walked to it and studied each face, including the one he saw in his Creative Writing class every school day. The messy hair was apparently something he couldn't really control, since this looked like a fancy family portrait done at some high-end studio and everyone else looked smooth and neat. Dean found himself smiling at the rolled-out-of-bed hair, tiny smile, and challenging gaze. He seemed to be the most intense out of all of them. 

"I'm not a fan of family portrait day," Castiel rumbled behind him, making Dean jump. 

"Fuck, wear a bell, man," he said without thought as he caught his breath. Castiel smirked. 

"Sorry to startle you," he said, not looking sorry at all. 

"No, yeah, sorry, I uh, guess I'm just nervous. Makes me jumpy."

Castiel softened a little. "Don't worry about it, man. You can leave that here, unless you’re attached to it," he said, gesturing to the guitar slung over Dean’s shoulder. He couldn't afford a case for it. He could barely afford the cheap piece of crap guitar.  He dropped it onto the floor near a small table.  "Come on out."

"Out" turned out to be a building in the back of the house that Dean had assumed was a huge rich-people’s shed or storage unit. Usually when Dean thought of sheds, he thought of tools and gasoline and wasps' nests and maybe a rusty bike. This one looked like a musician's wet dream.  One side, which he saw through a tinted window, seemed to be for recording.  On the other side, where they stood, a full drum kit sat on a small stage. Several stringed instruments hung on the east-facing wall. Amps were on the floor. A stand with a mic lying on the floor next to it was in the middle of the room. Comfortable couches and a small refrigerator were on the wall opposite the guitars, bass, and... mandolin?  Yeah.  Castiel scowled as he noticed the mic on the floor. 

"Friggin' amateurs," he muttered. "Last guy had no respect."  He picked up the mic, tested it for sound, then placed it back on the stand. He turned to Dean and gestured behind him.  Dean turned to face the rest of the band. "So, this is Ash, our bassist, Benny, our drummer, and Charlie, our keyboardist, pianist, and any other -ist we need." Dean nodded in greeting. He recognized Charlie and Benny but had never seen Ash. "And I'm Castiel. I..."

"I know that, Castiel. You're in my Creative Writing class." 

Castiel looked surprised, which Dean didn't expect. Didn't he know that  _everyone_  knew Castiel Edlund-Rosen?

"Oh. Well, I'm the guitarist and singer."

He didn't really want to admit yet that he knew that, too – all too well, in fact – so he said, "I thought that’s what you were auditioning for? Why audition someone if you already do it all?"

"Well, at least you read the ad, brother," Benny said as he tossed popcorn into his mouth. 

"It is," Castiel assured him.

"So, we'd be co-singers and co-guitarists?"

"That's right.  But you'd sing many of the songs, probably the majority."

"Okay. Okay, I can do that."

"We'll see, man! Cas is a hard-ass!" Ash called from the floor. 

Dean darted his eyes nervously toward Ash and then away. He licked his lips and looked at Castiel, who pointed to the mic with an open hand and a sweeping bow.  As he stepped to the mic, Castiel handed him a guitar. "Whenever you're ready," he nodded with a blank expression. 

Dean took the proffered guitar from Castiel’s hand. "Start with something you know," he said before he turned and sat next to Charlie. Dean took some deep breaths and allowed their gazes to fall away as he adjusted the guitar in his hand and began to play. 

Dean started with some Stevie Ray Vaughn, and a couple of the band members nodded along. He played one of his more well-known songs, "Pride and Joy." As his voice rang through the studio, Cas kept his face neutral and closed his eyes and listened. He had a warm tone of voice, with a little edge. His fretwork was solid. He listened until the end of the first chorus, then raised his hand. Dean paused. Cas opened his eyes. 

"Play something else."  

"Okay..."

"Something by Ok Go."

"Ummm.... okay."  Dean started playing "Here It Goes Again," the only song he could think of.  After a minute, the hand raised again. 

"Something by Billie Holiday."

Dean thanked his lucky stars his Uncle Bobby listened to old jazz when he visited in the summertime. 

"Do you mind if I switch to acoustic?" The band looked at Castiel. He was clearly the one in charge here, and everyone in the room, including Dean, knew it. 

"Be my guest," he not-quite-smiled as he gestured to the wall behind Dean. He turned around and selected one of the acoustic guitars from the wall. It looked nicer than anything Dean had ever played. Hell, everything in this room did. 

"I'm not sure if she was the original singer, but here we go," Dean announced. He tuned the piece a bit before launching into "Them There Eyes," chosen specifically for his blue-eyed classmate. He even changed the eye color noted in the song. 

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Castiel commented dryly after stopping him about midway. 

"I had to try," Dean replied cheekily. Castiel arched an eyebrow. Dean quickly schooled his face into a serious look.  He thought he caught a hint of a smile, but quickly dismissed it as his hopeful imagination. 

"'The Audience Is Listening.'"

Dean switched back to electric. He played the crap out of that song in his room, so that was an easy one. It gave his voice a break, too... but only for a minute. Just as it was getting good, the hand went up. 

"'Sweet Caroline' done in the style of Green Day."

Dean had to think hard about that one, but he must've managed well enough. Castiel let him play it for a full minute-and-a-half at least. 

Castiel held up his hand again and Dean stopped, waiting for the next song. He stood and walked slowly to Dean, keeping his eyes locked onto him as if he was either stalking or appraising him. Dean assumed the latter. Either way, it was very intimidating.  

Cas was indeed appraising him. He dropped his eyes as he took Dean's left hand and studied it, stroking the fingertips before placing it down gently by his side. He raised his eyes again and circled him, taking in the way he stood, his confidence, his presence, his tolerance for being observed, judged.  He'd had the opportunity to observe him before, in their shared class and in the hallways, so he supposed Dean maybe had a slight advantage over the other candidates, but this observation was for a different purpose entirely.   He sat down suddenly, just to throw Dean off. Other than looking a little nervous and swallowing a bit, he didn't budge. 

"Play us a song that means something to you."

Dean took a deep breath.  He stepped back and once again took up the acoustic. He closed his eyes as he started the familiar chords of "Hey Jude," a song his mother sang to him and, later, a song he sang to his brother Sam. He started with his eyes open, waiting for the serious singer/guitarist to stop him, but soon found himself lost in the moment. He closed his eyes and let the music take over, comforting memories washing over him and calming his jangled nerves. He wondered if his mom would be proud of him. Dean was surprised when he opened his eyes. The band – Castiel – had allowed him to complete the song. He looked at each of them in turn, and they returned his look with soft eyes. When he stopped at Castiel, there was something there – interest, maybe?  Dean couldn't quite tell. Dean waited. 

Without a word or signal, each of the band members stood, dragged mics over, and stepped to their instruments. 

"Do you know 'Jelly Roll' by Blue Murder?" Castiel asked as he handed him a blue Stratocaster. 

"Uh no, sorry." Crap, I was doing so well, Dean thought.

"Another time, then. How about 'A Little Less Sixteen Candles,' know that one?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Let's do it," Castiel said. "I'll take the first verse, you take the next."  Before Dean could answer, the band started tearing into the Fall Out Boy song. Dean caught up quickly, hardly losing a beat. He listened as Cas (the shortened name he used only in his head) started singing. Cas had a great vocal range, and he played the guitar in his hands like he breathed air – effortless and smooth. He'd seen Cas' band play before, of course, when that British guy was with them.  That guy was good, but Dean always looked forward to the songs Cas sang. He wouldn't ever tell him, but he was kind of a fan – okay, really a fan – of the band, but specifically of Castiel. The guy's commitment to his music was well-known and unrivaled by anyone in the local music scene. Though he was only 18, like Dean, he had talent and maturity that far exceeded his years, and he demanded respect. 

Cas watched as Dean took over the song. He wasn't listening for range or depth this time, but for passion and goodness of fit with the band. Dean seemed like a natural. The other members seemed to like him, and the more he relaxed and got into the song, the better he sounded and the more he interacted with everyone. When the song ended, Cas mouthed something to Ash, then they immediately launched into "Song 2" by Blur. Dean joined in with the heavier guitar riff just when he was supposed to, and they finished the song with a crash of guitars. Cas decided to throw one more challenge at Dean, so he dove into one of the band's original songs. Dean didn't know the instrumentals or most of the verses, but he did know the chorus, which was more than Cas expected, even though he'd seen his green-eyed, sandy-haired classmate at some of their concerts. He stepped up to the mic right next to Charlie and sang the chorus with her. She smiled and nodded encouragement to him. He stuck by her for the next verse, and when the chorus was coming up again she motioned toward Cas. Dean stepped up to Cas' mic and started singing with him. Cas switched it up so that he was harmonizing with Dean and watched his reaction. He seemed to settle into it easily enough, with only a small facial twitch to indicate his surprise. 

They wrapped up the song and Castiel gave a hand signal that seemed to mean they were done, because the others put the instruments back where they belonged and wandered back to the couches. Benny pulled a water bottle out of the fridge and handed it to Dean, who thanked him and downed half of the bottle in one gulp. The group looked at each other, and Castiel gestured for Dean to sit. 

"There are a few things you should know before we go any further," Castiel said. Dean nodded for him to continue. "We are deeply committed to each other, to music, and to the success of this band. We believe in challenging ourselves and each other. We plan to take this band as far as we can, Dean, so anyone who is with us has to be completely committed to it. That means lots of practices, it means playing as many gigs as we can, it means writing great music and busting our humps and it means looking out for each other like a family, because the music business is tough shit. I grew up in it, I've seen it. With me so far?" Dean nodded. "Okay. Two of us do not identify as heterosexual, and we try to be inclusive and open-minded. Anyone can come to our shows, and when we cover songs we don't bother to meet some hetero norm. Is that a problem?" Dean shook his head. "Okay. We expect a lot, me more than anyone. You can ask any of these guys.  As Ash so delicately put it, I am a hard-ass. I expect you to know lots of genres of music, and I change things up every night, so you have to be ready for anything.  If you're chosen, I want you to speak to them before giving us your answer. You need to know what you're getting into. Thoughts? Questions?"

Dean shook his head. 

"Any concerns about the commitment?"

Nope, Dean thought. Commitment he knew. He shook his head. 

"I'll walk you out."

They made their way back to the mudroom. As Castiel approached the door, Dean paused and touched his arm to get his attention. "Hey, uh, thanks man, I appreciate the opportunity." He held out his hand and Castiel shook it firmly. 

"Our pleasure, Dean," he said. He opened the door and howled a surprised greeting to the person inside. 

"Luke, you asshole! The hell? You auditioning?" Castiel greeted the man with a handshake and a smile. 

Shit. That guy was the singer in another local band. He was good. Dean knew he wasn’t better than that guy. Plus they clearly knew each other. 

"I'll see ya, Cas," Dean said without thinking. Shit.  Only his close friends called him Cas, from what Dean could tell. 

"Bye Dean," Castiel said with a small smile. He must not have noticed Dean's slip. Dean slung his guitar over his shoulder and walked away not knowing quite how to feel.  Until that guy Luke showed up, he thought his chances were at least 50/50.  Now it felt more like 90/10, and he was not on the 90 side of the equation. Cas watched him go as he led Luke out of the mudroom and down to the studio. 

Five days later, Dean was trying to concentrate on his homework and to stop obsessing about the band.  He didn't have any hints from Castiel during the class they shared -- in fact, the wild-haired man paid him no further mind than he ever did, which was none. 

The ringing of his cheap cell phone provided a welcome distraction. It was an unknown number. 

"Is this Dean?" a woman's voice asked when he answered. He confirmed, so she continued.

"It's Charlie, from Mixtape, the band you..."

"Yeah, yeah, of course, how are ya?"

"Good! So hey, we'd like to meet with you – me, Ash and Benny. You free?"

"You mean like now?"

"Yeah."

"Uh, sure." They agreed to meet at a diner a few minutes from the dump Dean shared with Sam and their father, easily one of the shittiest places in a town of beautiful homes.  It used to be a nice place until his dad let it go.  He checked on his 14-year-old brother before heading out. He was fine, and Dean didn't expect their father back for several hours.  His father took the black ’67 Impala that Dean usually used, since a buddy had borrowed Dad’s truck for the night, so Dean was stuck walking.

"Dean!" the bandmates called simultaneously and raised their glasses when Dean walked in.  It was like a scene from that old show  _Cheers_  his father watched sometimes (before he passed out).  Their cheerful greeting – and the fact they even called him to meet – meant he was either well on his way to becoming the newest member of Mixtape for My Teenage Crush (usually shortened to MTC, or Mixtape), or this was going to be really bad news about how much he sucked and he was being let down easy because they were nice. He returned their friendly smiles as he slid in the booth next to Ash. 

"So we're interested in having you in the band!" Charlie squealed without preamble. Dean broke into a huge, disbelieving grin. 

"That's awesome! Thank you!"

"Hang on," Benny drawled. Dean stopped and waited. "We just gotta have a conversation."

They talked about the gig schedule, the daily practices, the extra crap that comes with being in a band – promotion, travel, late nights, and vices. Dean asked a bunch of questions and was satisfied with the answers. And then, finally, they talked about Cas. 

"So why did Castiel want me to meet with you guys alone?"

They looked at each other before Benny spoke up. "He just wanted to make sure you could ask any questions you might want to ask about him."

Dean screwed up his face.  "Why would I need to do that?"

The burly man shrugged.  “Rumors.”

Dean thought he knew what Benny meant.  There were lots of rumors about Castiel – about his sexuality, his temperament, his family.  Dean tried not to put much stock in rumors, although he knew the rumors about himself and they were at least half true.  Dean just shrugged in response to Benny’s statement.

Charlie spoke next. "Cas is an intense guy. He thinks of this as his life's work, and he's very serious about it. He's had his own band since he was twelve, and he’s been in the business for even longer because of his parents. Do you know who they are?"

Dean knew about the duo that had several hits in the late 90s and early 2000s, but eventually quit because the guy – Castiel’s dad – apparently drank too much.  His father went on to produce music for several popular acts.  Cas was just a kid when they were at their peak.

"Yeah, I know of them."

"Cas doesn't want special treatment because of his family, so he's really adamant about working hard and doing all of his own stuff as much as he can.  He'll ask them for advice and whatnot, but he doesn't want them name-dropping or calling in favors, you know?"

Dean noted that she didn’t mention the drinking.  "Yeah, I get it."

"So anyway, because his parents are famous and whatnot, sometimes people just kind of want to know what he's all about – is he really that intense, is he a jerk, is he a spoiled brat, is his family crazy, is he human, does he sleep with everything that moves..."

"Is he human? People ask that?"

"They have."

"That's… weird. Um, no, I got the message that he's serious about this stuff. I am too. I respect that."

Ash smiled, "You've got the job if you want it, so you can ask."

Dean hesitated. Now he  _was_  curious, but he restrained himself. 

"Nah, I'm good."

"Okay then, my man... but just so you know, the answers are yes, not usually, no, no, yes, and not  _everything_  that moves." The band broke into laughter, and Dean laughed along with them. 

"I do have one question... what's the name of the band mean?"

They looked at each other before Charlie said, "It's the name of a song." 

"What song? I've never heard of it."

"His song," Benny continued. "He’s got a song called ‘Mixtape for My Teenage Crush’ and he named the band after it."

"Oh. Do you guys play it? I don't think I've heard it."

"I told you he's been to our shows before," Benny commented to Ash smugly, then turned to Dean. "We don't play it at shows. The song is still in progress."

“It’s been in progress for, what, a year or two now?” Ash commented.  “I’m starting to believe it’s a unicorn.”

Dean laughed.  “Is he always that slow about songwriting?”

“Oh God, no,” Charlie laughed, “that guy is constantly writing stuff down, composing, et cetera.  He probably has five albums’ worth of stuff.  If you cracked open his brain, I’m sure rainbow celestial wavelengths would come pouring out.  And not just because he’s bi.”

“Well, that addresses that rumor, I guess,” Dean chuckled and the others joined him.

The rest of their time together was spent eating pizza and discussing their first practice together.  They each talked a bit about what got them into the band and Dean was relieved to hear his audition wasn’t nearly as bad as Ash’s and Charlie’s – “and I was, like, fourteen!” Charlie had joked – and it led him to another question.

“Okay, so I guess I shouldn’t ask, but… there was a guy who auditioned right after me and I thought for sure he’d get it.  Why not him?”

“We felt you’d be the best fit,” Benny answered.  “It ain’t all about the talent, although you’re talented, man.  Luke was talented, probably had more technical expertise and definitely had more experience, but he didn’t have the passion, and he was a kiss-ass to Cas.  The rest of us were peons.  Cas won’t put up with that shit.  We didn’t like him, and we told Cas that.  That would’ve been enough for Cas, but Cas thinks he’s an asshole anyway.”  The group broke into laughter and started imitating Castiel’s imitation of the guy.  Dean was impressed with Castiel’s ability to at least fake a smile with the guy.  He wondered how many times he’d had to do that with people in the industry. 

The peon comment made Dean think about something else during his audition, and he hesitated to ask, but they could tell he wanted to ask something.  “Spit it out, brother,” Benny demanded.  “Now’s the time before you sign the contract.”

“Uh, well… at the audition, I mean, Castiel didn’t treat you guys like peons, but he was clearly in charge.  Is that the way he usually is?  Like, is this a dictatorship or a democracy?” 

The three giggled at the insinuation.  “Naw, man, Cas is cool,” Ash said.  “We just let him have free reign during the auditions because he wanted to weed people out.  He’s intense, so that was real, but he knows he’s seen as an intimidating control freak so he just played it up.”

“Band stuff is done together, really.  Promise,” Charlie said.  She held up her middle finger and her pinky on one hand and held it to her heart, a gesture the others imitated.

Dean cocked an eyebrow.  “What the hell’s that?”

“It’s Iggy the Crooked Dog.  Inside joke,” she laughed.  “When it points at you, it looks like a dog whose ears aren’t on quite right, see?”  She turned her hand around so that her thumb, index and ring fingers were pointing toward him.

“Yeah, I see that, but…”

Benny chimed in to clear up Dean’s confusion.  “It means ‘I got you, I swear’” – he held up the pinky – “and fuck the rest” – he held up the middle finger.  “It’s Iggy, like I Got You, get it?  Cas and I made it up when we were 12 and going through some shit.  We were young and just tryin’ to be cool, I guess, but it stuck.”  He laughed to himself at the memory, and it warmed Dean and made him a little jealous.

Charlie nodded excitedly.  “So if we do it, it means we’re not bullshitting you.  It’s like an honesty and trust thing.  Our little connection.”

“Huh.  Okay, that’s cool.  So it’s a democracy.”  

They held their crooked dogs to their hearts again. 

“Okay.  I’m in.”

The table whooped and cheered, and Dean agreed to meet them at Cas’ place the next day at 6:30.  And despite the rain that started to fall on his walk home, Dean felt pretty damn optimistic.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs and other works referenced in this chapter:  
> Pride and Joy by Stevie Ray Vaughn and Double Trouble  
> Here It Goes Again by Ok Go  
> Them There Eyes by Billie Holiday  
> The Audience Is Listening by Steve Vai  
> Sweet Caroline by Neil Diamond  
> Hey Jude by The Beatles  
> Jelly Roll by Blue Murder  
> A Little Less Sixteen Candles, a Little More “Touch Me” by Fall Out Boy  
> Song 2 by Blur  
> Cheers, television show


	2. Chapter 2

_February-March 2011_

“Standard contract, really, but you’ll want to review it before you sign.  If you want your lawyer to check it over, that’s fine.  We can still practice.”

“Dude, you think I have a lawyer?  I’m ten plus years away from having a lawyer, if my brother even sticks with that goal.  He bumped up a year, yeah, but he’s still only a freshman.”

“You’re an adult going into a binding contract.”

“I’ll take my chances.  You plannin’ to screw me over?”

“Of course not.  But it explains…”

“Yeah, yeah, it’ll be fine, Castiel.”  He signed the contract with rough strokes, trying to hide the elation from his face. 

“Okay, then,” Cas acquiesced.  He signed the contract as well and put it aside, then stuck out his hand.  “Welcome to MTC, Dean.”  Cas’ hand was warm, dry, and firm.  Dean’s was hot and a little sweaty from nerves.  Cas made no comment on it.

“Let’s get to it!” Cas called as everyone took their places.  Two hours later, Dean had never felt such a strange mix of feelings – exhausted, exhilarated, inferior, nervous.  The band was so talented and they fed off each other so easily.  He knew it was only their first practice, but Dean wondered whether he’d ever fit into their little group so effortlessly, like he was born to be there.  He wondered if he’d ever just  _know_  their little signals, their little tells.  He had those with Sammy, of course, but he’d never been close enough with anyone else to develop them, never let himself get close enough.  He wondered if he’d ever be as playful as Charlie, as unselfconscious as Ash, as relaxed as Benny, as  _present_  as Cas.  God, Cas threw himself into it.  Charlie told him to  _turn it down, rock star_  and he rolled his eyes and grinned a little bashfully; he could tell it was an old argument by the way the others laughed it off.  Cas hadn’t been particularly warm and fuzzy with Dean just yet (and, to be fair, Dean was just plain old insecure and a little apprehensive around Cas), but he figured maybe they’d develop some type of easy camaraderie at some point.  He hoped, anyway.  He drove home with the vision of Cas’ eye-rolling and his smile.  He thought he’d caught a glimpse of what the real Cas was probably like.

When he got home, his father was passed out on the couch.  Sam was in his room reading. 

“What’re you doing, nerd?” Dean asked as he closed the bedroom door behind him.

“How’d it go?  Did you like it?  Were they nice?” Sam asked excitedly, ignoring Dean’s question. 

“Good, man, good,” Dean assured his brother.  “Yeah, they were nice, and yeah, I liked it.”

“I can’t wait to see you play!”

“Not for a few weeks at least.  When we get a show booked, you can come.”  Sam smiled at his big brother.  “Remember what I said, though.”

“I know, you don’t want Dad to know,” Sam repeated from a previous conversation.

“Right.  So yeah.”  He turned to head out of the room.

“Dean?”  Dean turned to face Sam and waited.  “Is Castiel… uh, is he scary?  I’ve kind of heard around school that he is.”

“Nah, he’s not scary.  Much.”

 

***

 

The first time Dean had any real occasion to see whether Cas was scary was the second time he was late for band practice, a little over a month after he joined.  The first time he’d been late, it was only five minutes, and they’d brushed it off.  They usually gave each other a five minute grace period, not that they usually used it.  But this wasn’t going to be five minutes; he knew he’d be significantly later.  He’d seen Castiel be intense – hell, practically every day.  He was really tough on Dean, putting him through the paces, and he didn’t let up very much, but it was in the name of getting better, he knew, and he actually appreciated Cas’ investment in him. He took practices seriously, and he just knew being this late was going to be a problem.   

“What do you mean you can’t pick him up?.... ‘Cause I’ve got something I’ve gotta get to, Dad…. Well it’s not my fault his practice goes until 6:30 now, it’s almost playoffs, you said you’d be able to pick him up…. You know, he’s your…. Yes, sir.  Bye.”  He ended the call and panicked.  If Sam got out right away, he’d only be about fifteen minutes late, but he knew team sports practices rarely went that way.  Sam would have to wait in the car while the band practiced.  It was cold but he could leave the car running; they’d dealt with much worse.  Dean drove with a heavy foot on the gas.  He made it to the gym in time, but Sam was still late coming out.  He sent Charlie a quick text letting her know what was happening.  He figured she’d be the most sympathetic.

“Dean, aren’t you supposed to be at practice?” Sam said when he ducked into the car.

“Yeah, let’s go, I’m late.  You’ll have to wait in the car.”

“Why didn’t you just ask Dad to pick me up?”

“He was busy.”  They both knew it was a lie, but it was a lie they both understood.

“Okay.  Sorry.  I hope you don’t get in trouble.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean said as he ruffled Sam’s hair.  He didn’t want Sam to ever worry about being an inconvenience, the way his dad made him feel.  Besides, Dean would do plenty of worrying for the both of them.

It was just past 7:00 when Dean pulled into the long driveway and parked the car.  He left the keys for Sam so he could run the heat and rushed to the door of the studio, taking a deep breath and steeling himself for Castiel’s wrath before he entered.  The sound of laughter and an unfamiliar song stopped as he closed the door. 

“Hey,” he waved weakly as he stepped inside.  “I’m really sorry I’m late.  Had to pick up my brother from basketball again.”  He squirmed under Castiel’s unreadable scrutiny.

Cas watched him for a long minute.  He decided Dean needed to learn what being in this band meant.  “Band meeting,  _now_ ,” he rumbled.  The others fell away from their instruments and sat on the couches.  Dean stood at the door and waited, eyes downcast and lips pulled into a tight, thin line.  He looked so damn  _defeated_. 

“Band meeting, Dean,” Castiel said sternly.  “You  _are_  a member of this band, aren’t you?”

Dean looked up in surprise.  “Uh, yeah…”

“So get over here.”  Cas turned quickly before Dean could see his expression change to concern tinged with sadness, which Charlie matched.  He took a deep breath and refocused.

Dean wandered over and sat across from Castiel, eyes still glued to the floor. 

“You were late again,” Castiel said without emotion.

“Yeah,” he mumbled.  He fiddled with a loose thread on his worn jeans. 

“So what do you need from us?”

Dean stopped fiddling and looked up.  “What do you mean?”

Cas rolled his eyes.  “What do you need from us?”  Dean continued to give him a blank stare, so Cas continued.  “Do you need us to change practice times?  Find someone to pick up your brother?  Meet at your house to practice?  What do you need us to do to help?”

Dean felt dumbstruck.  Help?  He never expected that offer.  He stared.  This had to be some sort of test.

As softly as Dean had ever heard the man, Castiel said, “Dean, it’s not a hard question.  It’s not some test of your commitment.  We know you’re committed, and we’re committed to you.  The people in this band are committed to each other; I told you that before we even started all this.  Now what’s Sam’s schedule?”

Dean could hardly hope to believe his ears.  He was being given a chance, without anger or shitty expectations.  It’s more than he usually got in other parts of his life, with other people.  And Castiel remembered his brother’s name, which… well, he didn’t expect that. 

“He’s outside.  In the car,” Dean said, not answering Castiel’s question but instead blurting out the first thing on his mind.

“Your brother?  Well fuck, Dean, bring him in, what the fuck?” Castiel huffed before grabbing his coat and walking out the door. 

It was several seconds before Dean realized what Castiel was doing.  He looked at his bandmates, who shrugged and smirked at him. 

“I told ya.  He’s a hard-ass, but a pretty nice one,” Ash remarked.  Dean exhaled in relief.  He hauled himself up to get his brother – he was his responsibility after all, not Castiel’s – but the others waved him down and asked him about the schedule as they pulled out a calendar.

“Found this outside,” Cas said wryly as he re-entered the studio, a surprised and slightly star-struck Sam following.  “Help yourself, Sam,” Cas intoned as he pointed to the fridge and to the computer in the corner.  “You can check out the instruments until we have to start practice if you want.”

Dean panicked like a parent whose child was holding a fancy glass in a stodgy old aunt’s house.  “Those are really expensive, Sam…”

Cas tried to assuage Dean’s anxiety.  “It’s all right, Dean, they’re not really breakable with proper use.”  Dean was still hovering, so Charlie gently led him back to their little circle so they could finish discussing the revised practice schedule, which included a later start time and an agreement to let Sam come if need be.  Sam was happily playing one of the guitars, pretending he was a rock god on MTV, until an “Oh shit!” from Sam startled them all to attention. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!  I must’ve played it too hard!” Sam wailed in a panic.  He looked like he was about to cry as he held the offending instrument in front of him.  A string curled around and down, making it look like a ribbon on a party gift.  Dean jumped up to get to Sam, his brain racing to determine what he should do next – comfort or kill Sam, apologize to Castiel or defend his brother against Castiel’s anger, which he was sure was coming. Their father got pissed off for a whole lot less; he couldn’t imagine what Castiel would do.  This shit cost a lot of money, even if it was an easy fix, which broken strings usually were. 

Cas could see the gears turning in Dean’s mind.  He didn’t want to pry into their lives, but he didn’t want Dean thinking this was the end of the world, either.  “It’s not a big deal, Sam, really,” he assured the teen as he took the guitar from his hands.  “You see this?”  He pointed to the nut.  “It’s probably dirty.  After a while junk can build up in there and eventually cause strings to break.  Here, I’ll show you how to fix it, okay?”  He turned toward the rest of the band, Dean included, and told them to go ahead and start practice without him, then motioned for Sam to follow him.

They weren’t going to do vocals yet, just some instrumental warmups he could do in his sleep, so Dean watched warily as Cas led the teen to a small supply closet, then sat on the floor with him in the corner and spoke to him quietly.  He walked Sam through the process until a new string was placed, and Sam looked both relieved and pleased with himself.  He mumbled something to Castiel in his awkward teenage way as he handed the guitar over and Cas smiled proudly at him.  Dean felt his chest expand as he allowed himself to relax – Cas wasn’t pissed, he was understanding and he was good to Sam.  Cas rejoined the group while Sam sat on the couch and watched them play.  Sam was an enthusiastic audience member, even calling out a request or two, which they obliged.  The rest of the band noted that both Dean and Cas seemed to feel a little more comfortable, and by the end the practice was deemed a good one.

“Thanks for letting me stay, Castiel,” Sam said, not making eye contact.

“No problem, man,” Cas replied as he clapped him on the shoulder, “and you can call me Cas.  It’s fine.”

Dean was surprised but tried not to show it.  Unfortunately for him, Sam had to open his big mouth.  His eyes widened a little as he said, “Dean never calls you that.”

Cas shrugged.  “Well, all my good friends do, so either your brother enjoys the formality or he needs to loosen the fuck up and relax around me already.”  He said it casually, with a smile at Sam, but his words were clearly meant for Dean and they made him a little embarrassed because yeah, he hadn’t been sure where he stood with Castiel.  Cas. 

Cas hadn’t wanted to embarrass Dean but he needed to get his point across.  Dean needed to trust him.  Cas had really grown to appreciate him as a person and he hoped they could form a tight bond.

Sam said goodnight and took Dean’s keys so he could warm up the car.  Dean said goodbye to everyone in turn, then pulled Cas aside briefly.

“Thanks… for, uh, being cool with my brother.  I can pay for the new string…”

Cas gave him a withering look.

“…Or not,” Dean said as he surrendered, palms outstretched.  They laughed together, and a night that started pretty shitty was turning out pretty damn good.

“Night, Cas,” Dean called over his shoulder as he left.

“Night, Dean,” Cas called back.  He added worriedly to himself, “I hope the rest of the night turns out okay for you.”


	3. Chapter 3

_April 2011_

Dean waited impatiently at the diner for Benny and Ash to pick him up, his own car having once again been co-opted by his father just because he felt like it.  MTC’s first gig with Dean was tomorrow, and Dean was nervous.  It was a good kind of nervous, he thought, but his body had difficulty figuring out good nervous from bad nervous, so he faced the prospect the way he faced most nerve-wracking things – with dread.  They had several covers and a few original songs they’d be doing as the opening act for another band, and Dean knew they sounded good.  They’d tightened up quite a bit in the two months they’d been together, both professionally and personally, but Dean still worried, and with worry came sleep loss and self-doubt and other crap he probably shouldn’t do.  He was exhausted from nerves and anxious about tonight.  Charlie had called for a “Rannygazoo” and had told the group to plan for several hours of time around 5:00 on Friday.  Dean had no idea what the hell a Rannygazoo was, and no one was inclined to tell him, although Cas did say it was “nothing to worry about.”  Cas seemed to understand that Dean didn’t like the unknown all that much, and he appreciated the man’s reassurance.

Cas and Charlie planned this particular Rannygazoo, and it would be at Charlie’s home.  Charlie lived with her mom on the outskirts of town, and had several acres of land around her house.  They had prepared the gear and now were waiting for Ash, Benny, and Dean to arrive.  The smells of lasagna and garlic bread floated in from the kitchen and filled the living room, where they sat flipping through magazines.

 “Think they’d notice if we ate without them?” Cas asked as his stomach complained loudly. 

“You’re skinny but you’re not dying,” Charlie teased as she poked him in the abdomen. 

“I’m a growing boy,” he pouted. 

Before she could reply, her stomach growled, and she looked at him sheepishly.  “Maybe we could eat the garlic bread?”

“You’re skinny but you’re not dying,” he mocked her. 

She blew a raspberry at him and shoved him onto the floor.  He yanked her down roughly and they wrestled until she was on top of him, pinning his wrists to the worn gray carpet. 

“Say I win or I tickle you until you cry or pee your pants.”

“You don’t…” he started but didn’t finish as her fingers flew to his armpits, then his neck, then his sides, until he called out, “…okay, you win, stop!”  She stopped and slid to his side, looking at him with mischief in her eyes. 

“So,” she said casually, which was not casual at all, “how’s the crush going?”

“Charlie…” he said in warning.

“I’m just asking!  Have you talked to her or him yet?”

“You make it a big deal, Charlie.  I got a hard on for a hot body, that’s all.  It’s nothing.”

“Nothing… except you suddenly wanted to go to public high school your senior year and you’ve been writing a song about said crush for forever and, oh, named your band after it and...”

 “It’s literally nothing.  I’m just writing about the concept now.”

“Uh huh.”

“Seriously…”

“Cas,” she said gently, “You won’t even tell me who this crush is, yet you’re still writing a song about her or him.  I just don’t want you to get screwed.  Emotionally.”

“I’m not going to, Mother Hen.”  He poked her in the side. 

“Oh, you little…” she said as she moved to start tickling him again.  He quickly locked her head in his arm and rubbed his knuckles hard (but not  _too_  hard) into her head, which caused her to screech and flail and slap whatever body part she could find until he let go with a painful groan.

“Shit, you play dirty, Charlene,” he moaned as he held his groin and rolled to his knees, then stood. 

“Eww, gross, you know I hate that name!”  She made a disgusted face as she rolled onto her knees.  “I was going to apologize, but forget it.”

“You were not.”

“Nah, probably not,” she grinned.  “Seriously, are you okay?” she asked as she stood and faced him.

He put his hands behind his back.  “It’s just a flesh wound,” he said in a terrible British accent as he started kicking at her playfully. 

“Look, stop that!” she responded in the same terrible accent.

“Chicken.  Chicken!” Cas taunted.  Charlie and Cas played out the scene from  _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_ , dissolving into laughter as they both placed their hands behind them and kicked at each other.  This was how Dean, Benny and Ash found the two, tears running down their faces and nearly breathless.  Benny and Ash called out some nonsense and jumped into the fray.  The four of them looked like children, Dean decided, and he watched from the doorway with arched eyebrows and a tight-lipped smile.  They had known each other for years, Dean knew, and he imagined they’d had many other times like this, carefree and silly and happy.  Dean had never quite known that sort of childhood. 

“Be a Black Knight with us!” Charlie called as she hauled him into the living room.  He felt self-conscious – they were all legal adults, for crying out loud – but the others didn’t seem to care, and since they kept kicking him and calling him names in British accents, he figured he at least needed to defend himself.  So he did, and the five of them laughed and kicked and shoved until they fell in a pile on the floor.  Charlie’s mom smiled and shook her head at them when she entered and told them dinner was ready.  Dean had landed on top of Cas, who ended up being the pig in their accidental game of Pile on the Pig, and he couldn’t help but grin widely when he looked at Cas all bright-eyed and flushed.  Cas wiggled his eyebrows at Dean, and Dean realized they were pressed chest-to-chest.  He blushed and rolled off his friend, then reached out his hand and helped Cas up.  Cas sensed that Dean was embarrassed, so he took the hand and stood, then shoved Dean lightly.  Dean shoved back, and they fought for dominance all the way to the table, where Charlie’s mom swatted them with a towel and told them to sit down.

"So you're probably wondering what the hell a Rannygazoo is, right?" Charlie said with a gleam in her eyes.

"Um, yeah..."

“The word itself is just a nonsense word from Ash’s Word of the Day Calendar phase,” Benny explained.  Dean raised his eyebrows but nodded.

"Okay, so! We call a Rannygazoo whenever we just need to be together as friends. It could be because we've just been working hard and need to blow off steam, or life has been crazy, or we're feeling a little distant, or one of us feels like shit and needs support.  Like one time, my girlfriend cheated on me and I called one. And they made me feel better."  She grinned at her friends and they grinned back with glints of naughtiness in their eyes.

"It feels like there's a story there," Dean observed.

"Let's just say we don't know how her ex's car got covered with wet cotton balls last February.  It's really too bad they froze onto her car," Benny drawled.

"Yes, very inconvenient," agreed Cas lowly.

"We were at Denny's when we heard. We were shocked someone would do that," Ash said with mock seriousness.

They all turned to Dean with innocent faces, and he smiled.

"Yeah, that's a damn shame. Don't know what kind of hooligans would do that," he commented. They shrugged and shook their heads mournfully.

"So anyway," Charlie continued brightly, "whoever calls the Rannygazoo gets to decide what we do, usually, and does what's needed to plan it. You can ask for help, though. And everyone has to participate.  We try to plan them in advance.  I called this one because we have been busting our asses and you're super nervous about your first gig." Dean scowled, and Charlie just giggled and waved her hand dismissively. "We all know you are. It's normal." 

"I threw up before every show for a long time. Still do occasionally," Cas shared. Dean was shocked. He looked so calm and confident on stage, like he'd been there forever.

"So, tonight I've planned... laser tag!"  The group whooped and hollered their enthusiasm. As they finished dessert, they discussed the rules and safe zones and declared the winner could choose the movie they watched afterward.  They noisily picked up their dinner dishes and then crowded into the living room to strap on the equipment. The bandmates stepped into the cold evening. It was dark, but the backyard had floodlights that made it easier to see. They played a traditional game first with the lights on, then a  _Hunger Games_ -type game where a player had to get an object in the middle of the yard. For the last game, Charlie turned off the lights and they played the game in the darkness.

Dean wouldn't admit it, but he was afraid. He'd always been a little afraid of the dark, and even more so since his mom died and all the shit with his dad started. Sometimes bad things happened in the dark.  As he leaned his forehead against a pine tree, he could feel his heart start to beat faster, preparing his body for flight. He started to feel lightheaded as his breathing became quicker. There was so much he couldn't see, so many things that could hurt him, he felt so alone, alone....

In the dim moonlight, Cas saw Dean hiding behind a tree, and there was something about how he was standing that bothered Cas. Instead of just shooting him outright, he decided to get closer and see if he could figure it out. As he approached, Dean seemed to be shaking, and not from the cold. It worried Cas. He wanted to check on him but didn't want to make him feel embarrassed. He tried for a humorous approach.

"Come with me if you want to live," a low voice hummed in Dean's ear. The movie quote was said in what Cas knew was a truly horrible Austrian accent. Dean startled a bit, but then relaxed and chuckled as he recognized Castiel's voice.

"Dude, your voice is awesome for voiceovers but terrible for imitating accents," he teased, his voice only slightly shaky. Dean felt his tension and fear slowly melt away when he looked at Cas. His bandmate's hand felt soothing on his arm and his face glowed in the dim moonlight, and Dean found himself staring. Cas smiled softly.

"Let's team up," Cas whispered.

"Can we do that?"

"Fuck it, we'll do what we want. You can be the Peeta to my Katniss. Or vice versa, if you like."

"Yeah, alright."

"Okay. I know these woods like the back of my hand. Hang on to me."  Cas was relieved when he offered Dean his arm and he took it, grabbing his sleeve and following. They made it to a small group of bushes and Cas pulled Dean down into a crouch. 

Dean felt the scratch of Cas' stubble against his face when he bent down near him to whisper about strategy. His breath was hot and tinged with chocolate and cold air. Dean felt much calmer with Cas there, and the near panic attack he'd endured only minutes before was a memory now as he focused on the cadence of Cas' voice and the warmth of his body leaning against him. They agreed on their plan of attack and waited for the telltale crunch of leaves and patchy snow under feet.

"Go!" Cas whisper-shouted, and they attacked rapidly, shooting and rolling on the ground. Red lights flashed as each of their bandmates were vanquished. Castiel and Dean jumped and high-fived in victory.

"Okay, only you two left!" Ash shouted as the three lay on the ground, Dean and Cas hovering above them. "The alliance must be broken! There can only be one winner!"

"We can barely see!" Cas tried to argue.

"Nuh-uh, no excuses," Benny said. "You managed to shoot all of us when the moon was behind the clouds. Now it's out, so duel!"

"Duel! Duel! Duel!" the friends shouted.  Dean and Cas stood and faced each other.

"Weapons raised, gentlemen."

They raised their guns toward each other. Cas held Dean's eyes for a moment, then gave a subtle sideways tilt of his head. Dean seemed to understand.

"Count us down, guys," Cas rumbled. 

"Three...two..."

They never got to one, because Cas and Dean dropped their weapons and ran.

"Balls to the wall, Dean!" Cas shouted gleefully.  It only took a moment for Dean to catch up, then overtake Cas. "Move your ass, Cas!" Dean yelled in return. He stumbled over a tree root and was caught by Cas as they hurled themselves the last several yards to the simple concrete patio and slammed hard against the cedar siding of the house. The two men's chests were heaving as they panted, hands on their knees.

Dean straightened and batted Cas' arm lightly with the back of his hand. Cas looked over, and Dean smiled and flashed him an Iggy across his heart.  Cas' smile split his face and his eyes sparkled as he winked and returned the sign.  Dean felt warmth spread through his body at Cas' easy acceptance. He imagined maybe this was what belonging felt like.

The others finally caught up to them, though by the end it looked like they'd resigned themselves to the tie. Cas let Dean pick the movie, and Dean was happy to find  _Terminator 2_  in Charlie's collection. They ate Twizzlers and cheese popcorn as they sat like canned sardines on the couch, Dean and Cas refusing to take the floor since they were the winners and the others refusing to take the floor since Cas and Dean cheated. Dean was wedged between Benny and Cas, Ash was on the other side of Benny, and Charlie draped herself across their laps, her head resting in Cas' lap and her feet on Ash's. She kicked him when he tickled her feet. Cas dropped popcorn on her "accidentally" until she growled, "Don't make me kick your ass, Edlund-Rosen."  That feeling from outside returned, and Dean sighed as he realized he fit right in, literally and figuratively. He felt safer here, with these people he'd barely known two months ago, than he did at home. It was so remarkably easy to relax and let his guard down. He knew the show tomorrow night would be great, because they had his back and he had theirs. He felt his head grow heavy as Arnold uttered his famous line, the same one Cas said in the woods that had grounded him and pulled him from the edge. 

Cas heard light snoring and felt a heavy weight resting on his shoulder.  Benny noticed and was about to jostle the man before Cas gave him a scowl and a shake of his head. Charlie turned her head and mouthed "aww" to Cas before turning back to the movie. Castiel carefully set the half-empty bowl of popcorn Dean had been holding on the end table at his elbow. He turned his head slightly, enough to see Dean but not enough to attract the attention of his friends, and smiled softly as he watched his new friend finally feel a little bit of peace.

Dean stirred as the movie's menu screen washed the room in blue. He was alone.  He heard murmurs coming from the kitchen. Cas walked in holding Dean's jacket.

"Ready to get out of here?"

Dean looked around as he sat up. "Uh, I came with Ash and Ben."

"They left a few minutes ago. I said I'd bring you home." 

Oh no, Dean thought. Anyone but Cas.

"It's alright, I can walk," mumbled Dean. He really didn't want Cas to push this. So of course he did.

"Don't be stupid. Come on." He threw Dean's leather jacket at him and motioned for him to follow, which Dean reluctantly did. They slid into Cas' car, a 2009 white Honda Accord, and other than Dean making fun of Cas' car they drove in silence across town. As they approached the diner where he'd met with the others months before, Dean said, "You can just drop me off there at the diner on the corner.  I'll walk from there."

"I'm not dropping you off at a friggin' diner. I'll bring you home.  I know your address, Dean. Contract, remember? Has your address."

Dean hung his head, a little ashamed that Cas knew that.  "Nah, really, it's cool."

"Dean, we might as well go all the way."

Dean couldn't help but make the obvious joke. "Gee, Cas, I don't put out on the first date."

Cas leered at him and replied in a low voice, "That's okay. I'm a patient guy."

Dean sputtered as he felt his cheeks heat. "Cas! Shit, fuck..."

Cas snickered, clearly pleased with how he managed to unsettle and distract his friend. "You started it, fucker!"  He shoved Dean's shoulder lightly. "Dude, it was a joke. I'm not hitting on you, although now I'm not sure if I should be offended by your reaction.  Should I be offended?"

"No! No..."

"Don't tell me you're one of those straight guys who can't take a little teasing from another guy.  Are you that insecure in your manhood?"  Cas asked with an exaggerated pout. He smiled as he looked over at Dean, but his smile faded when he saw the troubled look on his face.

"I'm not..." Dean mumbled and looked at his feet.

Cas schooled his face carefully. He knew, from experience, that this could be a delicate topic. "You're not... insecure? Or you're not straight?"

He watched Dean squirm in his seat. Cas passed the diner and kept driving. "Dean?"

"Shit, Cas, I'm not insecure, or whatever, alright? Fake-hit on me all you want."

"Okay," Cas replied.  He decided not to push for more on that topic right now. He turned onto Dean's street and Dean froze. Cas noticed and pulled up to the curb a couple of houses away.  He rested his hand on Dean's arm before he could run.

"Dean," Cas said. He waited until Dean took his hand off the door handle.

Dean felt the warmth of Cas' hand even through his jacket, and he had no idea how. Maybe it was the warmth of his voice radiating through his body and playing tricks on him. Whatever it was, Dean didn't want to pull away like he usually would in these situations. He sat and Cas moved his hand away, trusting that Dean would stay put.

"My dad.  He doesn't know."

"Doesn't know...?"

"That I'm in a band," Dean muttered.

Cas nodded slowly. He was afraid to freak Dean out. "Alright. Is it okay for you to hang out with your friends?"

Dean glanced at Cas' earnest, non-judgmental expression. "Uh... yeah, I mean, I guess.  I've never really had any."

"Okay. So maybe I'm just a friend of yours, not your bandmate."

"Yeah... yeah, okay."

"Do you think you'd be allowed to have friends over?"

"Uh, I don't really know. I've never tried.  Don't think I'd want people over." He shifted uncomfortably.

"Okay."  They sat in silence listening to the monotonous rumble of the running motor until Cas said, "Can I tell you something?"

"Sure."  Dean saw Cas turn his attention to the windshield. He faced Cas, whose profile was highlighted by the streetlamp across the street.

"My dad's an alcoholic. You probably knew that from all the press. He doesn't drink anymore, but there was a long time when life really sucked at my house but we had to pretend it didn't, you know?  That's kind of what being in the house of an alcoholic is about, according to the therapists we saw.  Lots of secret-keeping."

Dean nodded.

Cas' hands twisted on the steering wheel. "I don't know what's going on in your life, and it's not my business, but I just wanted to say that you don't have to pretend with me, okay?  You don't have to keep secrets."

When Cas finally turned back to him, Dean nodded and even smiled a little.

"Thanks, man."  Dean opened the door and stepped out.

"See ya Dean."

Dean started to walk away when Cas pulled up and rolled down his window.

"Hey," he called out. Dean leaned into the open window. "If you ever wanna talk about... anything, you know, if you need to sort some stuff out that's on your mind...even if you think I'll get mad or you're embarrassed or something, it's cool, alright?  See you tomorrow night."  Cas waved and drove away. Dean took several deep breaths before he walked toward his house.

 

***

 

Friendly choruses of "Hey!" greeted Dean and Sam as they arrived at Cas' house.

"Coming to watch your big brother, dude?" Ash asked Sam as he ruffled his hair. Sam nodded. They loaded their equipment and made their way to the club, where they'd be opening for another band. Dean was glad they had this show first. They’d be the only band at the next one and Dean wanted at least one show under his belt. Cas mumbled something to the guy at the door when they arrived, and they let Sam in with no problem. 

Nervous energy crackled in the air as they waited in a tiny back room.  They discussed how the show would go and what changes they were making, and Cas confirmed that yes, he’d be doing a "surprise" song, as they’d affectionately come to be known by the band, but he was confident that Dean would know it. Benny had explained to Dean after one particularly grueling practice (where Cas had really put everyone through the paces, especially Dean, and even more than usual) the surprise song rules:  it was always a cover, always toward the end (or in the encore if they had one), always something the band knew (and that’s why they were expected to know so much), usually twisted into their own alternative style and sound, and almost always sung by Cas, just because he liked to.  They often reflected something that was going on or the mood of whoever was singing it.  Dean was glad Cas was handling that.  The band had recommended to Dean during their practices that he sing the first song even though he was the new guy, something with a lot of energy to immediately engage the crowd. Dean had agreed then, but now he was rethinking that as he paced back and forth. Five minutes to go. He looked up and saw Cas speaking quietly to Sam, then slinging an arm around him and leading him out. He returned a moment later alone and pulled Dean aside.

"If you need anything, just catch my attention, okay?  You're gonna be great.  We have faith in you, man."  Cas clapped him on the arm.  

"Yeah, okay, don't have to get all chick flick on me," Dean deflected the praise as he clenched his hands and focused on a dirt-speckled piece of gum flattened on the floor.

"Group hug!" Charlie yelled as she barreled into them. Benny and Ash followed, and the five friends embraced until a club employee told them they were up.

It felt surreal to be standing on stage with MTC like he belonged there. He wondered when they'd figure out he wasn't anything special and kick him out. But this was his dream and he’d enjoy it for as long has he had it, he decided as Benny and Cas started tearing into the opening of Led Zeppelin's "Communication Breakdown."  He hoped the song title wouldn't be an omen as he opened his mouth and started singing like his life depended on it.

Cas watched the anxiety and uncertainty slowly ebb as Dean let himself get lost in the song. He was stiff as a board, though, clinging onto the mic without really moving. Cas strutted to Dean and played a riff as he leaned heavily into his side, both to make the man move a bit and to reassure him.  Dean opened his eyes and sang to Cas as Cas sang the chorus with him –  

 

_Communication breakdown_

_It's always the same_

_I'm having a nervous breakdown_

_Drive me insane!_

– before Cas moved away to engage the audience. It was his solo, and Cas stepped to the edge of the stage, fingers sliding ferociously on the frets while he engaged the audience, posturing and smirking.  It was one of the things Dean loved (and envied) most about Cas' performances – though Charlie teased him about his "rock god" persona, it worked. By the time the song was over and the next one started, the audience was dancing and head-banging and screaming. And hell, most opening acts didn't get that kind of warm reception.  Yeah, Cas really had something here. They all did.

The next song went much better, especially when Cas pointed out Sam in the audience. Every so often, when he felt unsure or shaky, Dean found his brother and felt calmer.

After the first two songs, Cas introduced the band, including an enthusiastic intro for Dean. He purposely didn't tell them he was their new singer.  They hadn't played this club or this town before, and Castiel figured the crowd would be more into it if Dean was already a part of the band and not the "new guy."  In other venues, other towns, Cas would have to explain, since Balthazar had been somewhat known, even if he hadn't been with them for too long. But here, Dean was just another member, one who'd been with them forever. He hoped it made Dean feel more like a part of them and less like an outsider.

They played a few covers and a couple of their own songs before the final song of the night. True to what he was told at the audition, Dean did sing the majority of the songs, and the crowd responded well, which boosted his confidence.   For the last song, Cas chose to do a punk-alt cover of "Welcome Home" by BTO.  He poured all of his energy into the song, and damn if he didn't look like he already belonged in some huge arena. Dean loved being able to step back and play while he watched Cas engage the crowd until they begged for more. At one point in the performance Cas turned to him and sang the words "welcome home" right to him, followed by a wink only he could see. Ash bumped him and yelled, "Welcome to the band, Dean!" and grinned widely at him. Dean looked around and saw that all of his bandmates seemed to be singing to him. He knew he had the goofiest smile on his face by the time the song ended, but he couldn't help it. Being with them really did feel like home -- what home was supposed to feel like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs and other works referenced in this chapter:  
> Monty Python and the Holy Grail, movie  
> The Hunger Games (book) by Suzanne Collins  
> Terminator 2, movie  
> Communication Breakdown by Led Zeppelin  
> Welcome Home by Bachman-Turner Overdrive


	4. Chapter 4

_May 2011_

“So you wanna work on our final project together?” Cas asked as he sidled up and tapped on Dean’s desk in their Creative Writing class.  He traced the graffiti on the surface with his middle finger.  Dean watched the digit follow a slow, lazy path around crazed smiley faces and demon heads. 

“What did you have in mind?”

Cas flashed him a lazy, mischievous grin.  “Ms. Talbot approved my songwriting project.  She said I could work with a partner.  We’d have to perform it for the class.”

Cautious excitement spread across Dean’s face.  He hadn’t tried songwriting yet, but knew Cas was very practiced.  He’d written or co-written all of MTC’s songs.  Dean hadn’t wanted to bring it up yet – he’d been more anxious about proving himself competent in singing and playing first – but he really wanted to give songwriting a go.  Cas asking him to do this was nothing short of amazing to Dean; it meant a lot that Cas trusted him to contribute to the creative process, not just play things that were already created.  He nodded enthusiastically.  “Yeah, man.  That sounds awesome.”

They had four weeks to create a song for their final project, which had to be performed by the end of May.  Dean thought it would be a piece of cake – one afternoon, a weekend, tops.  He was wrong.

“Dean, everyone gets writer’s block.  You can’t really force it,” Cas comforted him one evening.  He twirled a pair of drumsticks nimbly as his limbs sprawled over the couch in the studio.  The rest of the band wasn’t around since this was their school project and they weren’t involved yet in the process.  Dean threw his pen in the air repeatedly as he rolled his eyes.  He bet that Cas didn’t get writer’s block, and that Cas would’ve had this project all wrapped up by now.  Cas was so much better at this than him, so much better than him in general.  He didn’t have much time to wallow in self-defeatism, though, because Cas sat up and said, “Let’s go to my room instead.  Maybe we need to get away from these four walls and look at four different walls.”  About halfway to the house, Dean realized he’d never been in Cas’ room.  He’d been in everyone else’s rooms, having visited each of their homes over the last few months.  Cas’ house was probably the largest of all of their houses, but they’d always stuck to either the studio apart from the house or to the kitchen and living room within his house.  Sam had probably been in the house more than Dean had, since he sometimes hung out there when they were practicing.

Some things were exactly what he expected – posters covering the navy blue walls and ceiling, instruments neatly in place, desk scattered with scraps of paper and journals and books.   But it also turned out Cas was messier than Dean expected.  “Sorry,” he said sheepishly as he picked up a pile of clothes and threw them in a hamper.  “Haven’t cleaned up in a while.  I’m not usually this much of a slob anymore, but I’ve been on a roll lately with stuff and I don’t think about much else when I’m composing.”

“Dude, if you don’t clean up things are going to start  _de_ composing in here,” Dean joked as he picked up two plates stuck together with food between them.  He thought about what Cas said, though, and it brought his mood down a little.  Cas was composing, and he was obviously doing just fine on his own.  As usual, Dean was dragging things down.

“Stop thinking,” Cas scolded as he shoved him in the shoulder.  “Gimme that.”  He took the plates away and placed them on the floor in the hallway, then clicked the door shut behind him.  Dean sat at Cas’ desk, the banker’s lamp glowing green in the otherwise darkened room.

“Alright, so Songwriting 101,” Cas started, “is to write what you know, or write what you’re interested in, or what confuses the hell out of you, or what makes you hurt.  So some people write about political stuff, like Rage Against the Machine or R.E.M.  Some write about shit that they think will sell, stuff everyone relates to, like love or sex or whatever.  Those are fine because they’re universal conditions, but I think a song means more when you’ve lived it, when you have a personal connection.  That’s what most of my stuff is.  Not all of it.  Sometimes I put myself into someone else’s shoes and write from their perspective.  I think the best songwriters have the ability to be someone else.”

“Yeah, okay.  Well, most of my life has been shit, so…” Dean shifted and stared at the lamp until he saw spots. 

Cas knew to tread lightly.  “So… we could write about that.”

“No.”

“Okaaaay, how about your exciting love life?  You’re dating that girl.”  Cas hoped the topic would be an easier, happier one. 

“Lisa?”

“That’s what you called her when you told us about her.  Forget your blow-up doll’s name already?” 

“Asshole,” Dean muttered with a grin as he pitched a dirty shirt in Cas’ direction.  Cas laughed as he caught the shirt.  He made a face and muttered that he really needed to do laundry.  “Nah, I don’t know if I want to write about that.”

“Too personal?” Cas guessed.  He heard a bit of hesitation before Dean said, “Nah, just don’t think it would make a good song.”

The truth was that Dean knew it wouldn’t make a good song.  He had only been dating Lisa for a couple of months and it was already over, probably before it really had a chance to begin.  He hadn’t really been into dating, but after word got around that he’d joined MTC, his coolness factor soared and he had girls asking him out left and right.  He tried out a few before Lisa.  Lisa was a beautiful brunette, tanned and perky and nice and popular.  It seemed out of place to him that she would date him.  Still, she stuck around.  Dean tried to be a good boyfriend, but he was shit at dating.  They’d made out in the back of the Impala a few times and they held hands in the halls and she came to one of their shows, but it didn’t feel quite right, like trying to jam a puzzle piece into a spot where it looks like it should fit but it doesn’t.  He could force it in, but the edges got smashed and torn and the picture didn’t look right.      

“Everything going okay?” Cas asked cautiously.

Dean shrugged.  Cas sighed.

“Okay, c’mon,” Cas urged as he pulled him up by the arm.

“What?”

“Take me somewhere.”

Dean arched an eyebrow.  “Stop hitting on me, Cas.”

“I can’t help it if you’re hot,” he said in a low, breathy voice as he combed his fingers through Dean’s hair.  He gave him a sultry up and down look before breaking into a teasing grin.

“Shut the fuck up,” Dean scoffed with a blush and a smile, shoving him playfully as they stepped out of the bedroom.  Cas grabbed the dishes he’d left on the floor and dumped them in the kitchen sink before the two headed out to Dean’s car. 

“So where do you want me to take you?” Dean asked while they idled at the end of the driveway.

“Anywhere you like.  Somewhere special to you or someplace you like to go to think.”

“I don’t have any place like that.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously.” 

“Okay.  I’m going to show you one, then.  Back up first.  I need to grab some stuff in the house.” Cas left and returned to the car a few minutes later with a tarp, rope, blankets, and a guitar.  Dean eyeballed the strange mix of items.

“You’re not gonna serenade me before killing me and dumping my body, are you?”

“Now why would I tell you if I was?”

“Oh, that’s very comforting.”

“Drive, asshole.”

He didn’t explain any of it.  Cas called out directions as he started texting:

 

_To Ash, Benny, and Charlie 5:47 p.m.:  We need a Ranny, stat.  Code blue.  The Clubhouse.  Bring doughnuts and coffee._

Dean followed Cas’ directions to the end of Benny’s street, then to another street over, which opened into a wooded area.  Cas told him to park, and he did so before following Cas blindly into the woods.  Cas walked with purpose and Dean knew he had to know his way.  As he looked around he noticed that this had probably been worn into a path at some point.  It seemed a bit less overgrown than other areas, although it probably hadn’t been walked in a while.  Dean saw a man ahead of them standing in a clearing.  As they drew closer, he saw it was Benny.  Wordlessly, Cas threw the ropes at the drummer as he unfolded the tarp.  Dean stood aside and waited.  

Cas didn’t want to make Dean uncomfortable, but something was up.  He got the sense that Dean wasn’t really into direct conversation or confrontation, so distraction would have to do.  Benny gave Cas a questioning look, but Cas only gave him a grim smile and a shake of the head. 

Dean heard footsteps behind them as Cas and Benny finished their project, which Benny had explained was their “clubhouse” when they were kids.  The tarp was stretched between trees, forming a tent or shelter of sorts.  Charlie and Ash walked up, carrying coffee and a large box.  They all ducked under the worn blue tarp – several tarps, actually, taped together with peeling silver duct tape – and sat on folded blankets, coffee and doughnuts in the middle of their circle. 

Without preamble, Cas began strumming the old acoustic and humming.  Benny began singing shortly after, trying to match his words to the tune.  He sang about heartache and loss, the last girl he’d dated, his sucky relationship with his brother.  Ash sang about the death of his dog and growing up poor.  Charlie sang about being bullied when she revealed her sexual orientation.  Cas sang about his dad’s struggle with alcohol, keeping secrets, and feeling helpless.  They sat quietly and ate doughnuts as Cas hummed and strummed the same twangy tune over and over, not expecting anything but not stopping either.  Dean usually liked to keep all those sad, dark feelings to himself, since no one really listened anyway, but he felt a little strange not contributing after they’d all spilled their guts.  He allowed himself to tap into the emotions the others had shared so freely, and he began to sing:

 

_I’m like a puzzle, where the pieces don’t fit,_

_I’m like a singer, without that big hit,_

_I’m like a drummer, without his drum kit,_

_I’m stuck in a pit…_

_I’ve never felt free to be who I am_

_It doesn’t make sense why you all give a damn_

_I’ll never become my dad’s kind of man_

_Don’t know who I am_

Dean stared at the ground as he waited for the reaction – the disgust or the pity he knew had to be coming.  Instead, the group just kept eating doughnuts.  Cas hummed along for a few more bars, then strummed into what felt like a natural end.  He put the guitar aside and grabbed a doughnut.  No one commented on Dean’s words, or anyone else’s.  It felt really good.

Dean finally broke the silence. "Lisa wanted me to go to prom and I told her we had a gig."

"Invite her to the show," Charlie said, the "duh" implied in her voice and pinched eyebrows.

"I did. She said this was our senior prom and she wasn't going to miss it, and she told me I couldn't either because I had to take her.  Boyfriend obligation, I guess."

"You couldn't miss it? Like she controls what you do?  Not cool," Charlie said with a scowl. 

"If you really want to go, you should. It's your last chance," Cas shrugged half-heartedly.  He tried and failed to hide his disappointment at the prospect of Dean not being at their show. 

Dean gave him an incredulous look. "I don't want to.  That was the issue. I told her I had committed to this.”  Cas smiled warmly at him, relief evident in his features.  “And I told her that even if I hadn't, I didn't want to go to prom.  It wasn’t my thing."

Ash snickered. "Well, that must've gone over well."

One corner of Dean's mouth turned up slightly. "Yeah, not really.  We broke up.”

"I’m sorry, Dean," Cas consoled him. He hoped to hell he at least sounded sincere.  Lisa was nice, but Dean always seemed like he was pretending to be happy with her, like he wasn’t really being himself.   

"It's alright," Dean shrugged. "It, uh, wasn't really working out."  Dean glanced at Cas through lowered eyes. Cas glanced back quickly, curiously, before pressing his lips together and giving a brief nod. 

Charlie cut in, "I went to prom last year. It's definitely overrated.  Lame band, couples groping each other in the dark, underage kids drunk off their asses..."

"Are you describing prom or our shows?" Benny asked, and they laughed as Ash snorted and did a spit-take with his doughnut. 

"Definitely our shows," Cas responded mock-solemnly when they had recovered. 

Dean scoffed and said, "I'd much rather be at our show, even if I wasn't part of the band."  Ash reached over and fist-bumped Dean. 

"It’d be cool to do a prom thing at our show," Cas suggested. The others jumped at the idea, and they talked about how they would pull it off.  The mood became lighter and hopeful, and Dean forgot about his earlier songwriting frustration and the breakup.  Prom at school wasn't for him, but prom their way, together, sounded like an awesome idea, and Dean spoke his thought aloud.  Cas smiled at Dean, and when they inadvertently brushed fingers while reaching for the last doughnut, Dean felt warm despite the cool air. 

"Split it with ya," Cas said as he plucked it out of Dean's hand. He broke the jelly doughnut in half and gave the slightly larger piece to Dean, then pulled his hand back and started to lick the sugar off his thumb.  Dean didn't realize he was watching until Cas said, "Want a taste?" in that stupid, ultra-sultry voice he used to joke around.  

"Fuck you," he grumbled as Cas laughed and sucked on one of his fingers exaggeratedly. 

"You're such a man-whore," Benny said as he grabbed Cas' wrist and licked a stripe of sugar off Cas' index finger. Dean raised his eyebrows, but no one else flinched. 

"Says the straight guy who just tongued the finger of the token bisexual of the group," Cas said as he pulled his hand back and stuck his wet finger in Benny's ear. The burly man pulled back and batted at his ear in disgust. 

Doughnut still in hand, Dean watched the interaction with amusement and a little spark of jealousy. He figured the sexual banter didn't mean anything and was just from the comfortable friendship the two men had for so long. Maybe. He hoped for some reason that was it, and that his jealousy was just about their friendship.  He wondered why he cared.

"And I'm offended," Cas continued, "there's no such thing as a man-whore. Whore is a gender-neutral word.  But I'll forget it if you admit you're hot for me."  He winked at Benny and made kissing noises. 

"Aww, brother, you know you're the only guy I'd go gay for."

"I knew it. My charms are irresistible. Even Charlie would go at least bi for me."

"No way, you're like my brother, gross."

"You're gross."

Charlie squeezed Cas' hand around the doughnut he was still holding, and he dropped his half of the sugary confection on the ground. "Fuck, Charlie, my doughnut!" he pouted as Charlie cackled. 

Dean laughed as the direction of Cas' attention turned to Charlie and then to his mangled, forest-dirty doughnut and his jelly-and-sugar-sticky hand. "Gimme your sweatshirt," he said as he stretched his hand toward her.

"No way! You are not wiping your hand on my clothes! Get one of the guys to lick you clean, you friggin' heathen. You seem to like it."

"Benny uses his teeth!  And hell, I don't know where Ash's mouth has been!" Cas started.  "And Dean is a gentleman. Hey!  No, get away from me, dicks!" Cas yelled as Ash and Benny started crawling toward him, laughing maniacally. Cas started running as his longtime friends gave chase. 

"Children. You're all children," Dean muttered fondly and shook his head. 

"Pretty much," Charlie agreed, though he’d been speaking more to himself than to her.  She side-eyed Dean. "Are you okay with all this?"

Dean’s mind was still on the “gentleman” comment.  "With what?"

"The joking and stuff?  You looked a little uncomfortable with the thing with Benny."

Dean shifted. He didn't realize he'd been that obvious.  "It's fine, I just forget they've been friends for so long sometimes."

"Yeah, since they were little. Their dads worked together in the industry."  She paused before saying, "You know they're just friends, right? That we all are?  Nothing's ever happened between any of us."  She paused. "I, uh, just thought you might want to know."

Dean cleared his throat as he tried to hide the strange sense of relief flooding his system. "No, I know, it's just... weird to see people so open about shit like that."

Charlie smiled and nodded. "Yeah, well, we try.  It would suck to be together so much without being totally honest, and being totally honest would suck if we couldn't joke around about stuff the rest of the world might give us shit for. Makes it easier when we know we have each other."  Dean nodded in return. He was only just starting to see the value in sharing all the horrible shit with people you could trust.  Charlie gave him a sweet smile and squeezed his thigh. 

In the shadows a moment later, they heard Benny yell incoherently and Ash scream, "Aw, shit, Cas!" before Cas came running back gleefully with his arms overhead, the others stumbling behind him soon after with sticky, jelly-smeared faces and shirts. 

"I blame you, Charlie," Ash groused as he picked up the hem of his shirt and wiped the cheek Cas had used like a paper towel. Benny did the same next to him. Cas settled next to Dean and smiled beatifically at him as he showed him his clean hand. Dean high-fived him and offered him half of his half of the doughnut, which he still hadn't gotten around to eating. Cas thanked him and stuffed it in his mouth. 

"Last chance for a taste, Dean," Cas joked as he held a sugar-coated thumb and forefinger aloft.  He gave Dean a playful wink to reassure him that he was teasing, but while Dean would usually feel relieved to have that reassurance, this time he felt cold. He didn't want to be treated with kid gloves; he could be one of them without letting his hang-ups make things weird. Before he could hear his father's voice in his head, Dean dipped his body forward and wrapped Cas' thumb in his mouth, then pulled off with a wet pop, leaving Cas' thumb clean and his mouth tingly with sugar and adrenaline.  Ash, Benny, and Charlie howled with laughter, but in the dusk settling around them no one but Dean could see the shy, surprised smile and soft eyes Cas gave him. 

“Oh yeah, he’s a gentleman, all right,” Benny squawked playfully.

Cas' shy grin at Dean changed to a smirk as he turned to Benny and said, "See? Told you I was irresistible."  

His friends laughed and Dean understood they weren't laughing at him, but with him, because he was laughing too. They accused him not of being "queer" – a word his father used as one of his favorite insults – but of reinforcing Cas' swelled ego.  They didn't think he was weird, or a waste of space, or disgusting. They didn't imply that he was wrong in feeling good about what he did. They didn't do anything but accept him. Dean realized the world didn't fall apart because he let his guard down. In fact, his world got a little bit brighter, and that was no small feat. 

Cas and Dean sang to the radio and bounced around song ideas for their class project on the drive back to Cas' house. Dean pulled into the driveway and waited for Cas to open the door, but instead Cas turned fully in his seat to look at Dean squarely. 

"Are you alright?" he asked. 

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"You and your girlfriend just broke up."

"Like I said, it wasn't really working out."

Cas nodded. He took a chance and said, "You know, Dean, I don't want to make trouble for you.  We don't want to make trouble."  He laid his hand loosely on the seat between them, palm open and fingers curled in a non-defensive gesture, inviting Dean to talk or not. 

Dean stared at Cas for a moment. Damn, he was so sincere.  He had no idea how much trouble he'd had in his life before the band ever came along, and how much MTC had saved him. 

"You're not making trouble," Dean assured him. 

Cas hesitated before saying, "You know about the rumors?"

Dean gave him a puzzled look and urged him on. Cas continued with a sigh, "At one time or another I've been romantically linked with every person in this band, including Charlie, who's gayer than a pink unicorn with a rainbow mane on roller skates." Dean and Cas shared a smile before Cas continued, "I've heard rumors about us. I always refute them, of course, but I hope they didn't contribute to your breakup. I don't want to make you uncomfortable or be the cause of your unhappiness."

Dean scoffed and his heart broke a little. Cause of his unhappiness? How could he think that when he was one of the best things to ever happen to him?  Shit, he couldn't let him keep thinking that. 

Dean breathed a shaky sigh before saying, "Cas, my dad's a drunk asshole who has no problem giving me shit, I'm practically raising my brother, we've burned through most of the life insurance money from my mom's death, and there's some shit wrong with me because it’s a huge fuckin’ effort to get it up for any of the girls I've gone out with, alright?  I’m kinda fucked up."  He heaved a deep breath and shifted around in his seat while Cas watched him with those wide blue eyes that saw right through him. He didn't mean to say all that, but Cas just made him say things and do things and feel things. He was too ashamed to hold the gaze of the young man in front of him.  He looked down at the worn leather seat and Cas' hand resting on it. 

Cas absorbed all of the information Dean had shared. He knew there was something going on, but Dean had never shared how much he was going through. He wanted to reach out and touch him – grab his arm, hold his hand, hug him – just to let him know he was okay, that he wasn't a freak. His friend couldn't even look at him, though, and that was heartbreaking.  He hated to ask, but Dean hadn't addressed it and he had to know, so he said, "I’m sorry but I gotta know, Dean.  Are you uncomfortable around me at all?  Be honest. I know I can be kind of out there when I joke around and I don't want to invade your personal space or make you think I'm hitting on you or..."

Dean cursed himself for ever making Cas think he’d done anything wrong.  "Hell no, Cas.  No. I mean, you do make me uncomfortable, but not in a bad way, more like you challenge me to question the way I think and do things, you know?  I mean it’s different to have a guy put his arm around me or act flirty with me, but, you know, it’s okay.  I mean, I didn't grow up that way and my family doesn’t really hug and shit and I'm just not used to being touched, you know?"

Cas grimaced in the dark of the car. "I'm sorry. I can back off, Dean, really..."

"No!" Dean said loudly enough to startle them both. "Shit, sorry."  He wetted and chewed on his lips, still not making eye contact.

Cas watched Dean as they sat in silence for a long moment.  For all his family’s faults, they always showed they loved each other, and the band was the same way.  He couldn’t imagine not having someone show you they love you, not ever being hugged or having your back rubbed or even just an affectionate squeeze of the shoulder. Cas decided to take a chance.  He slid across the seat and pulled Dean into a long, tight hug. He rested his chin on Dean's shoulder and breathed steadily, keeping his grip firm and solid until Dean wrapped his arms around Cas and squeezed him in return. Cas felt Dean's head drop onto his shoulder and rest heavily as he relaxed into the embrace.  Cas didn't dare say anything else, but he rubbed Dean’s back and hoped his actions said it all: I care about you, thank you for trusting me, let me help you, you are one of the best things in my life. 

Dean arrived home in a much better mood than when he left, until he walked in the door. Sam was in his room with the lights off, and his father was on the couch, drunk as usual. He slurred curses at him and threw a bottle that missed Dean by a few feet. 

"Where the hell have you been?"

"Shit, Dad, I was just with friends.  I told you I was going to see my friend Cas to do homework, remember? Then we hung out with some other friends."

"Fuckups don't have friends," his father sneered. Dean rolled his eyes and tried to pretend it didn't hurt. 

"Yeah, well, I do."

"Yeah, well, your hot little piece of ass came by to bring you your shit. Screwed up again?"

"We broke up, Dad, that's all, no one's fault."

"Well, maybe if you weren't busy screwing your boyfriend you could satisfy your girlfriend."

"He's not... you know what? Not doing this with you."  Dean stormed out of the living room, his father's voice following him. He slammed his bedroom door and threw himself onto his bed, rubbing his tired face into the worn pillow before he sat up and texted Cas:

 

_To Cas 10:45 p.m.: Talk me out of kicking my father's ass. Or killing him_

_From Cas 10:46 p.m.: I'd miss you terribly if you went to jail._

_From Cas 10:46 p.m.: What's going on?_

_To Cas 10:50 p.m.: My father is a drunk piece of shit dickhead_

_From Cas 10:51 p.m.:  Come over. You can spend the night._

_To Cas 10:55 p.m.:  Can't leave Sam alone if he's getting this pissed off_

_From Cas 10:56 p.m.:  Bring him_

Dean tiptoed to Sam's room to check on him. He was asleep. Dean thought they must be pretty fucked up if the kid can sleep right through their father's rages. He sighed and closed the door quietly. 

 

_To Cas 11:04 p.m.:  Can't come, Sam's sleeping. We'll be okay_

_From Cas 11:06 p.m.:  Okay, but if you change your mind, come over.  Door's always open for both of you. Never need to call ahead. Be careful, Dean._

Dean sighed in the darkness of the hallway.  His father had finally shut his mouth, and some true crime TV show was blaring from the living room, the glow of the TV the only light on in the whole place. He debated what he should say back to Cas, if anything, before grabbing a bag from his room and sneaking out to his car.  Dean wondered, not for the first time, how the hell he became friends with Cas, a fucking brilliant guy who didn't run when he found out about Dean's shitty life. He collapsed into the backseat of his car and tapped out a quick note:

 

_To Cas 11:37 p.m.: Thanks man. I got this._

Dean pulled the bag onto his lap and unfolded the crinkled brown paper. He removed the bottle of amber liquid from its hiding place and unscrewed the cap, then pressed the cool bottle to his lips and stared out the window as the Jack slid down his throat.  He wondered absently what his father would say if he told him he had his lips wrapped around Jack before he thought of blue eyes and felt warm and ashamed. 

 

***

 

Charlie was wearing her prom dress from last year and the guys were wearing white t-shirts and loose ties when they burst onto the stage with Dean singing "Fight for Your Right."  The crowd was lively and the biggest one yet, with Sam right in the front since he was their "roadie" – with Cas' connections, they got away with a lot.  

Cas could tell that Dean was a little nervous about addressing the huge crowd, so after the first song, Cas got the audience's attention with an affectionate greeting of "Hey there, fuckers!" screamed at the top of his lungs. The crowd roared their approval. Dean felt the positive energy wash over him, and he smiled at Cas before putting himself out there with, "So yeah, how many of you are missing your proms to be here tonight, like we are?"  A few cheers went up. "And how many of you don't give a shit about prom?" Raucous screams filled the air. Dean's confidence bloomed, and he saw the pride radiate through Cas' eyes. It was so intense that he had to look away. Dean decided then and there that, fuck it, he was going to lose himself tonight, and all the voices and the shoulds and the have tos were going to shut up for once.  He channeled the jumpy, excited feeling in his gut into the next song. "Oh yeah, gonna make it worth your while tonight!" The audience cheered their approval as they tore into the next song, an alt-punk rendition of "Our Time" by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. 

Cas clearly knew his audience when he’d suggested they play songs mostly from New York bands, and Dean's rough voice created the perfect vibe. The New York crowd ate it up, from covers of The Ramones' "I Wanna Be Sedated" to The Hold Steady's "Stuck Between Stations," which were sprinkled between their own originals. The audience responded so enthusiastically Dean felt like he was flying.  There were no thoughts.  There was just  _here_.  The band was the tightest it had ever been, anticipating and responding to each other like a movie where you know the next line before it's spoken.  Yeah, this was so much better than prom, so much better than just about anything. 

Cas ducked backstage during their cover of “Teenagers,” which they’d decided fit into their prom theme if not the New York theme, and returned a moment later wearing a dollar store tiara on his head.  The audience roared their approval.  When the song ended, he declared himself the Prom Queen, and then revealed a paper Burger King crown and declared Dean the Prom King while seating it at an angle on his dirty blond hair. It was a chancy move, but Dean smiled jauntily and Cas knew it would be okay. 

"Alright everyone," Cas addressed the crowd, "grab a partner – consensually, of course, don't be macking on someone without permission ya fuckers – and dance the last dance with us!"  He jumped into the audience and weaved around swaying couples as Charlie played the opening notes of Donna Summer’s “The Last Dance” on the keyboard.  Benny and Ash approached Dean and put their arms around him, making him rock side to side like they were singing campfire spirituals.  He felt almost drunk, despite not having anything to drink that night, as he let himself float above his shitty father and his insecurities and his responsibilities and listened to Cas croon the beginning of the song.  He opened his eyes drowsily and watched Cas slink around the floor, ever the showman as he moved just close enough to turn people on but not close enough to touch. He was a fuckin' tease, Dean thought, and it definitely worked with the crowd. Benny wouldn't be needed for this song, so when the trio broke apart he jumped into the audience, dancing briefly with Cas before he found a lovely woman he'd been eyeing all night.

Cas continued singing as he trotted back onto the stage, adding an edge to the song as Dean added a little guitar to Charlie's keyboard and Ash's bass. He managed to dance both with Ash and Charlie before making his way to Dean. Faced away from the audience for a moment (and shaking his ass seductively so they wouldn't lose interest), he gave Dean a quick look and raised eyebrows. Dean gave him a barely-there nod as he turned to the side and slung his guitar behind him. He looked at the audience and flashed wiggling eyebrows and a lascivious smile before he wrapped a muscled left arm around Cas' waist and rested his right hand on Cas' left hip.  Cas seemed a bit surprised, but hid it well and quickly recovered as Dean moved their hips from side to side in a disco move that Donna Summer would be proud of. It wasn't quite Cas' usual easy-sleazy hip roll, but it was damn good and it worked with the song. Cas gave the audience a saucy, mischievous look as he switched the mic to his left hand so he could rest his right wrist atop Dean's shoulder and let the audience see their faces and bodies. Even though Dean was holding Cas' hips and moving him backwards, the dark-haired singer took control of the dance. He winked at Dean, then subtly rolled his shoulders and chest toward Dean's in a seductive move, all while continuing to sing the damn song. Dean had to sing along with him just to stay focused. When they reached the other side of the stage, Cas lay a hand on his chest and slowly pushed himself away from Dean with a wink, twirling back toward the edge of the stage, where he started making sexy eyes at a twenty-something with a low-cut top who hadn't stopped staring at him all night. Dean backed off and did the same as he swung his guitar back around and played for a bunch of women huddled together near the front. Benny finally made it back to the stage and danced with an arm around Charlie as he sang backup into her mic.  Cas and Dean came back together mid-stage and exchanged higher-pitched choruses of "the last dance" back and forth until Cas pulled off his rock god wail for a solid fifteen seconds and the audience howled and cheered.  Dean yelled, "We are Mixtape for My Teenage Crush, and that is how you have a fucking prom! Goodnight!" to the audience through Cas' final note, then the five friends linked sweaty arms and bowed together before leaving the stage. 

Best prom ever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs referenced in this chapter:  
> Untitled (Dean’s Song) by the author  
> Fight for Your Right by Beastie Boys  
> Our Time by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs  
> I Wanna Be Sedated by The Ramones  
> Stuck Between Stations by The Hold Steady  
> Teenagers by My Chemical Romance  
> The Last Dance by Donna Summer


	5. Chapter 5

_August 2011_

            Graduation came and went, and summer was a blur of traveling and shows and promotion and practices and writing songs in the shade of Cas’ deck.  Summer was usually an easier time of year for the Winchesters.  There was no school schedule and no heat to pay for, and it was better weather to stay away from the house and John when his mood sucked.  John worked more during the summer, too, and was even in a decent mood occasionally.  It was during one of those rare (but apparently still drunk) decent moods that Dean decided to tell his father that he was in a band.  And it was telling his father he was in a band that led to a swelled lip.  

When faced with trouble, Dean didn't think much; he went on gut instinct and experience. Cas' parents, Rebecca and Carver, had treated Dean and Sam like their own ever since they met. They shared their home and their food, and even insisted on taking photos of him at graduation – with and even without Cas – and cheered loudly for him when his name was announced. So it was that, plus Cas' open door invitation and Dean's compelling need to protect his brother, that propelled the two boys past the guard at the neighborhood’s gate (where they were on a permanent guest list) to the Edlund-Rosen household's front door.

"Dean, Sam! What a nice sur... oh, what happened?" Cas' mother said as she ushered them inside.

"Hi Becky. Sorry to drop in without calling, I just..."

"Oh, you don’t have to call, Dean!  You know you and Sam are welcome any time. Come on, let me get you some ice. Looks like you could use it."  They followed Becky to the large kitchen, a warm, familiar place after so many months. What Dean loved the most about it was that it was lived in but not chaotic.  Towels were tossed lazily on the counter, pans soaked in the sink because they weren't scraped down right away, junk mail sat on the edge of the table because no one put it in recycling yet, and the smell of the night's supper lingered in the air (chicken with Carver's homemade barbecue sauce, if Dean had to guess). Becky pulled out a small ice pack shaped like a panda, and though he felt a little silly holding a panda to his face when he could legally smoke and go to war, he also felt cared for and safe, so he gladly used it.

Becky asked no more questions and for that Dean was grateful. He didn't think he'd get so lucky with Cas.

"Castiel isn't here right now," she explained as she pulled out leftovers from supper (which was, in fact, exactly what Dean suspected) and filled two plates. She popped them in the microwave and opened the fridge again. "Do you want water, juice, seltzer...um, I think Carver drank the last of the iced tea...oh, I have milk...."

"Water's fine," Dean said, removing the ice pack briefly to speak before placing it back on his lip. He hadn't realized until now how much his lip stung. Sam asked for milk, something they usually didn't have at home because it was expensive. She poured them drinks and took the plates from the microwave.

"You know where the utensils are, Sam," she said, and of course he did, because he'd become a fixture in their household during MTC practices, doing his homework or hanging out with Cas' brother Gabe when he didn't feel like listening to them practice. Becky excused herself for a moment while they sat to eat.

Castiel was regretting all of the life choices he'd made that had led him to the moment he was currently enduring.  He was on a friggin’ date, something he was doing as a favor for a friend with the friend’s out-of-town cousin, a guy who thought he was God's gift to... well, everyone. He could see why the guy had a lot of blind dates and not many relationships.  Cas was politely nodding through yet another of the guy’s self-aggrandizing stories when his phone buzzed with a text message:

 

_From Mom 6:16 p.m.: Dean and Sam just showed up to the house. Dean has a swelled lip. Do you think they got into a fight?_

_From Cas 6:17 p.m.:  No.  I'm on my way_

_From Mom 6:19 p.m.:  You can finish what you're doing, honey, I don't mind them being here. I just thought you might want to know._

_From Cas 6:19 p.m.:  I'm coming home_

“Gotta go.  Family emergency.  This’ll cover my half.  Enjoy the rest of your visit,” Cas interrupted his date’s rambling as he slapped some cash down on the table.  He ignored the blustering behind him as he strode out of the coffee shop.

They'd just started working on dessert and were chatting with Becky and Carver about Sam returning to school soon when Cas walked through the door, looking slightly flushed and worried. He quickly plastered a cocky smile onto his face. "Thank God you guys showed up," Cas said as he rooted through the fridge. "You saved me, quite literally, from throwing myself out a window."

"That bad, huh?" Dean asked.  Becky said that Cas had been on a date, but he didn't really want to know details.  Dates weren’t really something that Cas did, as long as he’d known him.  He was surprised that Cas interrupted it to come home just for them.  But not that surprised.

"Dude, so bad," he answered as he pulled out a chair and moved it so that he could sit between Sam and Dean. He plopped all of his body weight into the seat and dropped a quart of blueberries on the table. The container made a strained, cracking sound as he opened it.

"Hey, did you know I used to call him Blueberry Muffin?" Gabriel, Cas’ 19-year-old brother, called as he joined them in the kitchen. Cas rolled his eyes.  "What'd I miss? Hey Sam-I-Am," he greeted the younger Winchester as he ruffled his hair.  He stood between Sam and Cas and leaned on Cas' head, attempting to annoy him.

"He was jealous because everyone commented on my eyes when we were little," Cas explained as he pushed his brother's arm off him.  Gabriel dug his hand into the clear plastic in front of Cas, and berries spilled over and rolled toward the edge of the table.

"Doesn't he have the most beautiful eyes you've ever seen?" Gabriel mocked in a falsetto. Castiel rolled said eyes again and sighed. He was about to offer a rebuttal when Gabriel started singing:

 

_On the day that you were born_

_The angels got together..._

"Ugh, Gabe..."

 

_And decided to create a dre_ _am come true..._

"Mom!"

 

_So they sprinkled moon dust in your hair..._

"Dad!"

 

_...of gold_

_And starlight in your eyes of blue!_

"Oh my God, you guys," Cas whined as his brother and parents finished the lyrics, Gabriel cackling and Becky and Carver smiling fondly.

"Castiel was a beautiful blond-haired, blue-eyed little boy.  I used to sing him that song all the time," Becky said wistfully.

"That song's embarrassing," Cas' muffled voice complained as he dramatically hid his face.

Dean had never seen his friend so embarrassed, and it was, for lack of a more manly word, adorable. He couldn't resist teasing him. "Is that why you have an angelic name, Cas?  Did the angels name you, too?" 

"Ha ha, jerk," Cas said weakly through his hands.

"I wouldn't talk, Winchester. Looks like the angels made out with you," Gabriel said, pointing out the smattering of freckles on Dean's face. Dean's brows knitted in confusion.

"Gabe!" Becky chided before she explained, "They say freckles are angel kisses, Dean."  She patted his hand affectionately.

"Hmm... freckles all over your face, best friend named after an angel... What are you guys really doing at your practices?"  Gabriel asked as he waggled his eyebrows. Sam laughed and Cas and Gabe's parents gave Gabe a disapproving look.

Cas had enough. It was one thing to give him grief, but it was another to give Dean a hard time.  He didn't need Gabriel insinuating anything and making Dean uncomfortable, especially since it looked like Dean had a rough evening already. "Knock it off," Cas growled through clenched teeth as he shoved him without looking. Gabriel stumbled into Sam's chair and barely kept himself from falling into his lap. Gabe shoved him in return, and soon the two were wrestling and being shooed out of the kitchen by their exasperated mother while their father looked on in amusement. They carried their brotherly conflict into the living room.  Loud banging of furniture and bodies drifted into the kitchen before Gabriel wailed, "Uncle! Uncle! Cut it out, asshole!"  Dean, Sam, and Carver arrived in the living room just in time to see Gabriel sprawled on the floor, his brother sitting on his back with the band of Gabriel's underwear in his hand. 

"Okay, Cas, no wedgies, okay? Geez, how old are you two?" Carver said as he shook his head. He was trying to scold his grown sons without laughing.   Cas grudgingly let go and stood.  He started to walk away when Gabriel grabbed his leg, tripping his younger brother and forcing him to fall into Dean, who caught him easily with no small amount of amusement etched onto his features. Cas turned around to glare at his brother as he got to his feet. Gabriel smiled sweetly and said, "Aww, looks like you fell for him, huh?" to which Cas responded with a kick to the thigh and a "Shut your mouth!" He wanted to say more, but he tried to respect his mother's request not to swear in the house. He shot him a face-melting glare as Dean pulled him away.

It was a warm evening, so Dean, Sam and Cas hung out in the backyard despite the mosquitoes. Gabriel joined them a few minutes later, chips and a deck of cards in his hands as a peace offering.  Cas frowned but relented and they played poker and other card games for hours. 

Around 11:00 it began to rain, and they decided to call it a night. Gabriel waved goodnight and went to his room, and Cas brought Sam and Dean to the guest rooms. He offered them toothbrushes, which they accepted since they left too quickly to grab theirs, and he bid them goodnight before going to his own room.  Cas shut the door and breathed deeply, finally allowing himself to feel the anger and the relief that had been warring under the surface all night. He'd never met the man, but he already knew he hated John Winchester. He'd tried to understand him, through Dean. He knew things could've gone very differently had his father not kicked his own habit. Yet Carver, for all his faults, had never laid a harmful hand on anyone, and had always at least tried to understand his sons. Perhaps the grief of losing his wife had impacted him in ways Castiel's 18-year-old mind couldn't fathom, but he still thought it was no excuse to punch his own kid. To be fair, Dean hadn't told him that happened tonight, but Cas drew his own conclusion and he was pretty certain he wasn't wrong. His head was spinning and his heart was hurting for his friend – best friend, Gabe had called him, and Castiel supposed that was true; Dean had become one of his best friends. Cas sat at his desk and sent a text to Dean:

_To Dean 11:26 pm.:  Come talk if you want. I'll be up a while._

Castiel pulled his headphones (the good, thick ones, not those shitty earbuds he avoided if he could) over one of his ears, keeping the one closest to the door uncovered in case Dean knocked. He plugged it into the stereo next to his desk and spun My Chemical Romance's  _Black Parade_  CD, which was one of the three CDs he'd been playing ad infinitum lately.  (The others were Queen's  _Queen II_  and Aretha Franklin's  _Lady Soul_ , which he knew didn't up his cool factor with his age group but fuck 'em, the woman had pipes.). He pulled out "Mixtape for My Teenage Crush" and read it over a few times, jotted a few notes on a separate page, and closed the notebook. He tucked that one away and pulled out another. Nearly an hour later, Cas was absorbed in mindless word association when his door creaked open.

"Hey," Dean said softly as he peeked around the edge. Even though one of the earpieces of his headphones was tucked away from his ear, Cas didn't respond. Dean saw him hunched over a notebook with plain white lined paper, words and pictures scribbled all over the page. He was scrutinizing the page intensely, writing and erasing as he chewed his lip in thought.  He raked his fingers through his messy, dark hair, framing his face in tiny waves around his forehead and ears, and Dean smiled at the now-familiar habit. He wondered what went on in that mind sometimes, how anyone could be so brilliant and not explode into stardust. When Dean watched Cas, so happily absorbed in his little world, he could remember that there were spaces, people – Sam and the band and Cas' parents and even Cas' dumb brother and, of course, Cas himself – that weren't perfect, but were sacred, whole, and good. He had an overwhelming urge to touch his friend, to hug him or drape an arm over him while he worked.  He couldn’t do that, so he picked up a dirty sock and rushed over, rubbing it in Cas' face.

Cas was surprised when he felt some kind of fabric smash into his nose, and he reacted quickly, pulling off headphones with one hand and reaching out to grab the object and whatever was attached to it with the other.  He didn't even realize it was Dean until he had wrestled the man to the floor, conditioned as he was to expect his brother and act accordingly. Dean's cut-up lips were stretched into a laugh as Cas hovered above him, straddling his chest. When he realized it was Dean, he had a split-second of doubt before he decided that Dean brought this onto himself and wasn't a delicate flower. He jammed the sock in Dean's face and rubbed it harshly back and forth before throwing it toward his hamper and pinning Dean's wrists to the floor. "Fucker," he growled with a smile on his face.

"Dude, you are stronger than you look," Dean muttered as Cas stood and pulled Dean to his feet.  They faced each other for a moment and just smiled, neither knowing what to say next.   Cas finally reached out and touched Dean’s lip.

“You busted it open laughing, numbnuts,” Cas said affectionately as he showed him the spot of blood on his finger. 

“Better laughing than the alternative,” Dean smirked before realizing what he said and going quiet.  

Cas dropped his smile but not his eyes.  He handed Dean a tissue for the blood.  “You gonna tell me what happened?”

Dean sighed and fell onto Cas’ bed. He flopped onto his back and held the tissue with one hand and a squishy, liquid-and-glitter stress tube thing that Cas swore was not an adult toy (but Dean always teased him about anyway) in the other.  “I told him about the band.”

“And that earned you a punch in the fucking face?” Cas rasped.  He couldn’t hide his anger, but he was trying.

“He was pissed because I lied to him, and because Sam lied to him, too.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, oh shit is right.  I can handle him, but after he socked me he started yelling at Sam and I couldn’t take the chance that he was going to do something to him.  So we came here.  I didn’t know what else to do.  He’ll calm down, but I don’t know how long it’ll take and he’d hidden the damn keys again, or lost them, who fucking knows, and it was supposed to rain, and…”

“Dean, I’m glad you came,” Cas said gently.

“Yeah, okay.  Uh, sorry about your date thing.”

Cas flopped down next to Dean and gave him a crooked smile.  “Dude, like I said, you saved me.  He was an idiot.  It was a favor for a friend.  I definitely did not want to be there.”

Dean smiled a little bit as he moved the tissue away.  “All good?” he asked, referring to whether the bleeding had stopped.  Cas nodded.  He sat up and threw the tissue, missing the trash can by several inches.  He lay back next to Cas again, purposely pressing against his side.  Cas made no move to avoid him; instead, he pressed in closer, crossing his arms so he looked casual but leaning his head on Dean’s shoulder and closing his eyes.  It felt really good.

After several minutes of easy silence, Cas said, “You guys should come on vacation with us.  Do you think your dad would say okay?  I mean, once he gets over himself?”

The vacation was the annual Edlund-Rosen family beach vacation; this time they were headed to Maine in just a few days.  Dean had never been on any kind of vacation that he could recall.  “He can’t say shit about me anymore, but I can’t leave Sam alone.”

“That’s why I said ‘you guys,’ Dean.”

“You think your parents would be okay with it?”

Cas nudged him with his elbow in response.

“Yeah, alright, let me see what I can do.”

They lay side-by-side for what felt like a long time before Dean spoke again.  “You mind if I stay in here tonight instead of the guest room?”  He felt like maybe he should offer more explanation, but instead he waited for Cas’ response.

“Of course.  Do you really think I’d say no?”

“Nah, just… I don’t know, just didn’t want you to think I’m weird or something.”

“Don’t worry, I’m weird enough for the both of us.  Turn the A/C on.  It’ll get hot as balls in here with two of us in the bed.”

“I can sleep on the floor…”

“Don’t be stupid.”

Dean smiled to himself as he shifted and turned on the air conditioning unit in the window next to Cas’ bed.  He rolled back to Cas, who moved the sheet and offered it to him.  Dean covered his lower half, as did Cas, and they settled down to rest.

"You finally get to sleep with me, Cas,” Dean joked to ease his heightened senses.  “How's it feel?"

"Rawr," Cas purred lowly, making Dean laugh.  "You're my final band conquest, you know."

"Oh?"

"Oh yeah, I've slept with everyone else.  Haven’t you heard?"

"Mmmhmm," Dean hummed. He knew Cas had, in fact, slept with all of them – platonically, as in actual sleeping at sleepovers over the years.  "So how were they?"

"Well, Charlie was hot – like seriously, she's a friggin' furnace.  Ash was limber – his limbs were all over the damn place. Benny was rough. Moved around so much one time he actually knocked me out of bed. He kicks, too. Left bruises a few times."

"I promise I'll be gentle, sweetheart," Dean joked.

Cas huffed a short, surprised laugh at the moniker.  "Thanks, babe,” Cas murmured with a little smile.  “I bet you'll be a cuddler.  A very manly cuddler, of course." Dean denied it but chuckled as he settled in to sleep.

"And if you are, that's okay, I like to cuddle," Cas said breezily before he fell asleep. Dean smiled to himself and moved a little closer.

Cas woke before Dean, so he took some time to just watch him sleep. They were the same age, yet Dean often seemed so much older – Atlas in an 18-year-old body, holding up the sky on his shoulders. His face was so relaxed and youthful in sleep.  Cas crawled down the bed and grabbed his acoustic guitar from the wall, then gingerly crawled back to his spot next to his friend. As he predicted, Dean had migrated toward him during the night and had stuck onto the side of Cas' body. Cas didn't mind. From what Dean had told him and what he could tell, Dean was touch-starved. He tried to indulge him when he could without making him uncomfortable, usually by giving him a one-armed buddy hug or sitting close to him, making sure at least one part of his body was touching him.  He strummed the guitar and began to play with the words he'd scribbled last night about friendship and long summer nights.

Dean didn't remember that sensation of falling asleep, nor the anxiety that sometimes accompanied it.  The last couple of years, he usually didn't fall asleep so easily unless he had some alcohol in him, which he needed more and more lately to drown out his father’s incoherent rambling or pissed-off ranting.  (He would comfort himself by reminding himself that at least it wasn't sleeping pills, which could be addictive.  Dean told himself that, unlike his father, he knew how to handle liquor responsibly.)  Dean usually awoke to his bare-bones room, or sometimes to the leather backseat of the Impala.  Once in a while, he woke up with Sammy next to him. Cas' soft voice woke him up this morning, and it was comforting.  His body was a solid line of warmth next to Dean, but with the air conditioning blowing the warmth felt good. He'd heard Cas move through this process many times now – the process of creating a song out of that damn galaxy in his head.  The song made him smile to himself as Cas crooned quietly:

 

_Hot summer nights… just the moon and stars and you and me_

_Hot summer nights, dreaming of who we wanna be_

_And what you promised me_

_Oh I’d give anything_

_For those summer nights…_

"Mornin'" Dean mumbled. He smacked his lips together and moved his tongue around to get rid of the fuzziness in his mouth.

"Hey," Cas glanced at Dean.  He stopped singing but continued to concentrate on the strings.

"I slept with someone in MTC and all I got was this stupid song written about me," Dean teased.

Cas grinned.  "I see what you did there, appropriating that Fall Out Boy song for your own use." He elbowed Dean gently in the head.

Dean grinned in return as he sat up on his elbows and arched an eyebrow.  "So, now that you've slept with me, tell me how I rate."

Cas looked at his friend, with his soft bedhead and his still-drowsy green eyes, and pretended to think about it. "Well, you were a cuddler, as I suspected. You didn't snore or hog the bed. Overall, I'd say you were the best lay out of the group. If anyone asks, I'll tell them it was really hot and you're well-hung."  He grinned down at Dean, who was laughing and blushing.

"Aw, shucks."

"Come on, let's get breakfast and wake Sam's ass."

A few days later, after John had sobered up and calmed down, he gave them his blessing to go with the Edlund-Rosens to Maine.  Dean figured he was glad to be rid of them, and the feeling was mutual.  The six of them made the drive on a sunny Sunday morning. The ride was glorious, despite being stuck in a Toyota minivan. Dean and Sam had never been this far north, and they played stupid car games and ate Burger King and sang along to Fleetwood Mac and Green Day and Ember, Becky and Carver's duo.  Dean couldn't wait to spend a week with this family, who even when they got pissed still loved each other, who overcame their problems somehow, who tried to live as normal a life as they could. And even more, he couldn't wait for Sam to have this. Sam was so young when their mother died that he didn't really remember a lot about the good times. Maybe that was a blessing sometimes.  He didn’t know what he was missing.

Old Orchard Beach was a little town right on the ocean, and they rented a house on the water far enough from the pier to have some privacy and quiet.  Cas and Dean shared a room so that Sam could have his own, since he was 14 and cranky as hell sometimes. The four boys spent their days hanging out at the arcades and at the amusement area, where there were a bunch of rides. They bought all-day bracelets and rode Adrenalin and Power Surge until Gabriel threw up and they had to stop for a while. They tried skydiving, which was more incredible than Dean would’ve imagined.  They swam in the ice-cold Atlantic and dried without towels in the sun and chased seagulls away from their sandwiches. They ate pier fries from Lisa’s Pizza and fried dough piled with butter and powdered sugar (Gabe's so much so that the sugar turned into paste.). They bought lame tourist t-shirts and shell necklaces. One night they had a real lobster and clam bake right on the beach, which kicked ass.  Dean could see why people raved about lobster. Cas' parents were recognized a few times, and once when they were at the restaurant at the end of the pier they sang a couple of songs. People were pretty respectful and didn't fawn over them. Cas and Dean got up and sang, too, and the crowd was enthusiastic and appreciative.

The last night came way too fast, and Dean knew soon it would be back to reality – back to school for Sam, back to bills and worry, back to their rigid, alcoholic father.  Carver found him on the beach, staring into the distance.

"Hey kiddo," Carver said as he sat next to him. "Didn't want to make the run to the store with the boys?"

Dean shook his head. They'd asked if he wanted to join them to pick up stuff for s'mores and for the ride home tomorrow, but he'd decided to stay back to take a little time to himself. He didn't want to think about going home.

Carver and Dean looked out at the ocean for a while, letting the white noise of the waves fill the space.

"It's been great having you and Sam with us this week," Carver said to break the silence.

"It's been awesome. Thanks for inviting us. We've never been on this kind of vacation."

"You're welcome."

After a few more minutes, Carver said softly, "Dean, we just want you and Sam to know that if you ever need anything, we're here for you.  We consider you ours, just like the other kids in MTC."  Dean lowered his head and couldn’t say anything around the lump in his throat, so Carver continued, "Listen, I know your dad has some problems with alcohol and I don’t know what else.  I want you to know Cas didn’t betray any sort of trust you might’ve placed in him; he didn’t have to.  I can see it written all over you and Sam, and when I spoke to your father about you guys coming on vacation with us, I could tell.  It’s a disease, and I’m not judging your father, but I know what it's like to live with an addict, and I know what it's like to be one and watch what I did to my family.  It was horrible. My father put me through hell, and I put my family through hell.  We stopped putting on shows because I couldn’t perform.  The kids were home-schooled until I got better because they were embarrassed by me.  My self-esteem was shot, and I almost lost everything – my house, my reputation, my talent, but worst of all my family, the people who really loved me.  The hardest and most loving thing Becky ever did for me was insist I go to rehab.  I fought her on it for a long time, but I finally went.  We all did.  Place out in California called the Betty Ford Center.  I got treatment and they did, too.  It was hard but worth it.  Beck and I are happy to help you guys if your dad wants the help, or if you guys ever want or need it.  Anything you need, Dean.”

Dean tried to will away the tears in his eyes and couldn’t.  “Thanks, Carver,” he said, his voice cracking.  Carver put an arm around him and gave him a hug. 

“You’re not alone, Dean.  Don’t ever think you’re alone.”  He gave Dean one more squeeze around the shoulders before standing and dusting himself off.  “Looks like the boys are back.”  He patted him on the back and left Dean to his thoughts.

The last night was bittersweet.  They ate s’mores and layered on the insect repellent so they could sleep outside on the beach (“It’s on my bucket list,” Sam had claimed, and no one could deny him). 

“Hey, Cas?” Dean asked into the night.

“Hmm?”

“Do you guys really have a record deal?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

Cas thought a moment.  “Well, it didn’t feel right before.  They wanted to jump on it once Balthazar looked like he’d be up in flames, just do something with the four of us because they felt we were solid on our own.  I was the one who wanted to wait.  I guess I was just waiting for you, Dean Winchester.”

Dean and Castiel fell asleep with smiles on their faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs and other works referenced in this chapter:  
> Close to You by The Carpenters  
> Black Parade (album) by My Chemical Romance  
> Queen II (album) by Queen  
> Lady Soul (album) by Aretha Franklin  
> Untitled (Castiel’s Summer Nights) by the author  
> I Slept with Someone in Fall Out Boy and All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me by Fall Out Boy


	6. Chapter 6

_January 2012_

Cas never saw the big deal in New Year's.  People placed so much hope into one day, vowing to do everything they never bothered to do before. Three times it was the day his dad said he would stop drinking, but as it turned out, Carver Edlund's last drink was on April 27, 2008.  So to Cas, the whole thing was arbitrary. People could change whenever they wanted to. The commitment had to come from within a person, not from the date on the calendar, and so the turning of the year didn't mean a whole lot to him.  Still, he supposed it meant something to others, and so he celebrated it with this spirit in mind – it was something he did for tonight's audience, and he indulged anyone who really wanted to change, even if it was on January first.

Cas was notoriously and excessively hit on every New Year's Eve since he was 15. It seemed like people's inhibitions were lowered with the prospect of a fresh start – people drank more and/or were more willing to "try new things," which made Cas want to avoid it all the more. He didn't tolerate drunkenness well, for obvious reasons. He didn't begrudge others a drink if they wanted it and he did believe that most people could drink responsibly, but he saw no need to get plastered and he certainly wasn't going to have one, and wouldn't even if he were of legal drinking age. He'd just turned 19, and he knew that many of his peers had tried lots of substances already, underage or not, and he was often given shit about it (but not by his true friends, because they wouldn't stay his friends for long if that were the case).  The truth was that he planned to never have a drink. Alcoholism seemed to run in his family, and he wasn't taking the chance. He was too driven and, frankly, too afraid to risk it. As for others wanting to "try new things" with him, they could get bent, and he meant that as an insult, not an invitation. He wasn't going to be someone's big gay experiment just because it was something to do.  He didn't mind curiosity per se, and everyone had to start somewhere, but he didn't tolerate that kind of callousness.  Most of the people who were curious wanted to use him, and that never ended well.  Despite the name, Cas wasn’t an angel, but he always wanted his encounters to be fully consensual, positive, and mutually beneficial.

So Cas was surprised and a little intrigued that night when Dean asked him about kissing guys.

"I mean, how'd you know you wanted to kiss a guy, Cas? That's not something that most gay guys wake up one morning and just know, is it?  Or bi guys, sorry."

They were sitting in the finished basement of Cas’ house, hanging out long after the others had gone to bed. The show that night was fantastic, but it took a lot of energy out of him and he was exhausted. Still, he wasn't going to NOT have this conversation, even if it was nearly 4:00am. It was too important and it felt like Dean had danced around the subject for a long time.

"Why do you ask, Dean?"

He shrugged.  "Just curious."

And indeed he was. He'd actually been thinking about it for some time. He couldn't help it, really. He was around Cas and Charlie all the time, and so the whole gay/bi thing was bound to rub off or something, right? Well, not rub off like he was gay or something. Just, if you're around something enough, you get curious, and you want to know about it so you don't sound like an idiot. That was his justification, anyway.

"Well, I mean for me, it was gradual," Cas explained. "I had a crush on Han Solo and Princess Leia. I liked Westley as much as Buttercup. That sort of thing. So I guess wanting to kiss a guy just kind of came with it. And I was around a lot of different people in the music industry too. I mean, lots of people in the industry are gay or bi, so... I guess it's what you grow up with, you know?  My mom said they always knew I was bisexual. It was an adjustment for them though, I think. They really try, though – sometimes a little too hard.”  Cas chuckled.  “I’m luckier than most people in that regard."

"Yeah, you are.  Your parents are pretty cool.  It's not really warm and fuzzy at my house, as you know," Dean responded quietly. They sat in companionable silence for a while. Cas thought that might be the end of it until Dean said, "So what's it like? Kissing a guy?"

Cas didn't look at Dean directly, although he could feel his presence and his attention focused on him. He shrugged and said, "Well, it's not much different than kissing a girl, Dean."  He looked at Dean then and saw his face fall just a little. He sensed he said something wrong, and he had a feeling he knew what, so he tried to correct himself. "Unless, of course, you don't like kissing girls. Then it's very different," he continued.

Dean faced him squarely and waited for him to continue.

"Um... like obviously some people are only attracted to one gender, so kissing a person of another gender would hold no appeal.  Like Charlie would get nothing out of kissing a man. If she had only ever kissed men and never a woman, she'd be pretty damn disappointed if I told her it was the same when, to her, it really wouldn't be. So I'm just saying, telling you that kissing guys is the same as girls probably isn't that accurate.  Sorry to mislead you."

Dean nodded slowly, as if to himself. "Yeah, okay, that makes sense. So, like, what's it like, you know, physically?"

Cas gave the question a little space before he said, "Um, well, guys are scruffier, obviously.  Their faces are usually a little, um, fuller, I guess, maybe? They smell different sometimes. They aren't as soft as girls.  And they're often in a big hurry, but that could be the guys I choose.  I'd rather be a little slower unless I'm just looking for a quick hit.  Those aren't really all that great, though."

Dean licked his lips and looked across the room. He stared at the black screen of the TV, looking at Cas' reflection. Cas looked soft, considerate, understanding, open.

"Why do you ask, Dean?" Cas finally said.

Dean shrugged. "Just wondering."

"Okay."  Cas allowed the silence in the room to continue for a while. He had plenty of noise in his head to compensate, all the pros and cons of what he was thinking of saying jousting in his brain. He decided to go for it.  "Dean," Cas said to get his friend's attention. Cas rested his elbow on the back of the couch and his head in his hand.  He looked at Dean until Dean looked back. "You know, if you're curious, you'll never know until you try."

Dean lowered his head and fiddled with his fingers.

"And if you decide to try," Cas continued cautiously, "be honest with the guy, and just please make sure you find someone who will be good to you and won't make things weird or awkward for you, okay? Someone who won't pressure you.  Please."

"Yeah, okay," said Dean, sounding doubtful.

Cas tried to lighten the mood.  He chuckled and nudged Dean with his foot. "And hey, if all else fails, I'll kiss ya." 

Dean licked and bit his lips nervously.  "Would you really?"

All the oxygen was sucked out of the room as Cas scrutinized Dean.

"I mean, I just, I've never talked about this before and this is weird for me and I don't know what I'm doing or who to trust and... I don't know, I trust you."  Dean held his breath. How could he have been so stupid? Too late now. He turned away from his friend.

Cas could barely breathe. He swallowed hard and tried his best to disguise the fact that he was nervous as hell. "Sure, if you want," he said casually.  He thought he heard Dean exhale in a rush.

"Yeah, alright."

"Okay," Cas smiled with more confidence than he felt, "you kinda have to face me.  I mean, if you want to do this now." 

Dean grinned nervously and twisted his hands in his lap.  "Yeah, I know, asshole," he said out loud with bravado while his brain shouted  _oh shit this is happening oh shit oh shit_.

Facing his friend, Cas could tell Dean was nervous, and he forgot his own nerves in favor of taking care of Dean.  This was a huge step for Dean to take, and Castiel had to remind himself that this was for Dean and it didn't mean anything in particular. Keeping that in mind took the pressure off. He knew how to kiss, and he'd make sure Dean had a good experience, whether he ever kissed a guy again or not. In fact, if this was going to be his only experience, it was that much more important to make it positive.

Dean sat like a statue in front of him, arms to his side and eyes boring into Cas. He looked a little like he did in the woods that night of their first Rannygazoo.  "Are you okay, Dean?" Cas asked quietly. He nodded but looked like he was far away. "Be here with me, okay? It's not supposed to be scary.  I'm gonna touch your arms, okay?"  Dean nodded and Cas grasped his biceps. His muscles were tense, tight. "Breathe and try to relax your body."  Cas kept his hands loose but steady until he felt Dean relax under his hands. He rubbed his hands briskly up and down Dean's arms. "Okay, good.  Still with me?"  Dean nodded, though he was still very nervous. "I'm going to touch your face. Is that okay?" Dean nodded again. Cas moved his hands to Dean's face and simply held them against his jaws.

Dean had started to feel himself falling away again, into that familiar panic, when Cas placed his hands on his arms. He was warm and comforting, strong and stable. Cas was telling him to relax and he was breathing with him. Dean felt himself float back to Earth. He focused on his friend – dark hair, blue eyes, days of stubble, full lips. Okay, he probably shouldn't have noticed the lips. He started to feel the nervousness swell in his chest again when Cas moved his hands to his face, and the warmth increased tenfold. His pulse quickened and his mouth felt dry.  He looked into Cas' eyes. That song was right – there was starlight in his eyes. Or maybe it was just the glow of the dim lamp in the room. Either way, they were soft and caring and endless. No one had ever looked at him that way. He had no idea how to feel about that.

"Dean. We don't have to do this."

"I know."

"Stop me if you need to."

"Okay."

Cas leaned toward Dean's face, keeping his eyes locked with his. He watched Dean stop breathing and his eyes widen. He was panicking again. Cas would bet money that Dean was hearing all the negative shit from his childhood, all the times his father said "queer" or "fag" with a nasty sneer.

"Dean," he said as he moved one hand to Dean's shoulder and put a little space between them. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Cas, fuck, I just don't know what I'm doing!”  Dean exhaled harshly.  “Fuck, I'm sorry, I just...."

“Dean, it's just me, okay? It's just me."  He brushed Dean's cheek with his thumb as he tried to refocus him. Dean nodded and gulped air like a fish out of water.

Cas was conflicted. Dean seemed so nervous, yet every time he gave him an out, Dean refused to take it. Did he really want this so badly? Was he that afraid? What was he trying to prove, exactly?  Cas decided to try one more approach that had proven helpful between them at other times. He hoped Dean would take it in the way it was intended.

Dean couldn't believe how much he was screwing this up. It should be simple, shouldn't it? It was just a friggin' kiss. There were guys kissing other guys all over the world, and lighting didn't strike them down. Did he really want this? Cas had given him several opportunities to back out. Maybe Cas wanted out.

"Do you not want to do this?" Dean asked timidly.  Cas smiled at him like he was the best thing in the world. Like he mattered. Tenderly would be the word, Dean supposed, if guys did things tenderly.

Cas didn't answer.  Instead, he wrapped an arm around Dean's shoulders and kept his hand on his face. He had a little mischievous sparkle in his eyes as he pulled Dean close and sang softly in his ear:

_Like a virgin, hey_

_Touched for the very first time..._

He didn't get any further because Dean was laughing and pushing at his chest. "Asshole," Dean muttered with a grin as Cas smiled widely and looked at him with fondness and humor. He was still holding on to Dean by his shoulder, and while Dean was still smiling and relaxed Cas leaned into Dean's space and kissed him.

It was unlike anything Dean had imagined. When he had imagined kissing a guy (because yeah, he did, just because people are naturally curious), he had imagined a certain roughness to it, an urgency and seriousness, sort of like a cross between wrestling and a business transaction. He hadn't been sure whether it would feel better or the same as kissing a girl (facial hair notwithstanding) and was prepared to be disappointed. But no.  God no, he was so wrong. It was gentle, safe, and exciting all at once. The heat of Cas' open mouth sent magnificent shivers down his spine. Friggin' birds were flapping around in his gut. Cas didn't rush, didn't press for more. He held him, honest-to-God  _held_  him and  _caressed_  his face. Who did that?  Who treated a kiss like it was holy, like it was an honor to kiss him?  Guys did. Or at least Cas did. He realized he was stuck in a floaty space, but not the kind where he goes away. No, he was here, very much here. He kissed him back just as gently, just as reverently, because that's what Cas deserved. He deserved all that and more just for treating Dean like he was precious and desirable.

Cas felt the switch flip immediately. Dean, hesitant and passive at first, began to kiss him back. The change in pressure was delicious, the slight scrape of his teeth heady. He tried to remember that this wasn't for him, and that in fact this might be Dean's reaction to any guy kissing him. It might not matter that it's Cas. Still, he might as well enjoy it. So he placed several open-mouthed kisses on Dean's lips, never breaking the seal completely. He wouldn't introduce his tongue. That was probably too intimate. He opened his eyes to watch Dean, and the relaxed, trusting look on his face filled Castiel with warmth he'd never experienced with another partner. It would have been frightening if it didn't feel so good. And because it did, he backed away slowly, ending the kiss sweetly and with a smile but ending it all the same so he didn't get used to having it.

"There you go, Romeo," Cas rumbled.  "What’d you think?"  He tried to keep it casual, but damn, he could use some air.

Dean flashed Cas a tiny smile and nodded. He was so damn overwhelmed. He tried to look away, but Cas wouldn't let him.

"Hey," he said, getting Dean's attention, "no shame, okay?  It's just us.  You and me."

Dean held his eyes this time and nodded again, with more vigor. Cas returned his smile and said, "Okay then. We should get some sleep, huh?" 

And though they each went to bed – Cas in his and Dean electing to take one of the guest rooms – neither one fell asleep right away, despite the time.

"Wake up, wake up, wake up!" Charlie yelled at Dean scant hours later. The band was playing in NYC tonight, and they had to gather their stuff together and get a few things done before they got on the road. Dean groaned and rolled over to face her.

"Jeez, what were you and Cas doing last night?"

Dean panicked. His eyes widened and he quickly said, "Nothing, what are you talking about?"

"You're both grumps. How late did you stay up?"

Oh, that's what she was talking about, Dean thought.

"Late," Cas answered behind her. She jumped, startled that he had appeared behind her without a sound. "Coffee, Dean?"

"God, yes," Dean groaned.

"We'll be down in five, Charlie," Cas declared as he led her out. He closed the door behind him and heaved a tired sigh as he rubbed his eyes.

Dean grumbled as he looked at Cas. "We are dumbasses."

Cas arched an eyebrow. "Why is that?"

"I don't care how young we are, going to bed at almost 5:00 am after one show, when we have another show the next night, is dumb."

"Mmm.  Agreed. Just wait until we're middle aged, though, it’ll be even worse.  We'll be lucky to stay awake to perform at all.  My father usually falls asleep in front of the TV by 9:00."

"Yeah, well you'll be doing the same thing because you'll be getting up at some ungodly hour to do your meditation.  Probably wake me up with some New Age shit."

Cas stifled a giggle. "I'll be dragging your ass out of bed to get you to take your blood pressure medication."

"I'll be buying you Rogaine."

"Hey! My hair will always be full and glorious."

"Sure it will."

"Mmmhmm. It will. As full as the bushes you'll have growing out of your ears.  Only to be rivaled by your hairy ass, I'm sure."

Dean threw the pillow under his head at him. Cas cackled.

"Move your hairy ass if you're gonna get coffee.  I'll meet you down there," he said as he opened the door and moved to leave to give Dean some privacy to change.

"I thought you were gonna get it for me," Dean whined.

"Why did you think that?"

He pouted. "Because I wanted you to?"

Castiel closed the door again and turned to Dean. "I only do certain things you want me to," he smirked.

"Oh fuck you," Dean muttered as Cas howled in laughter. He knew that kiss would come back to bite him in the ass.

Cas ran the short distance across to the bed and pounced onto Dean. "That's a separate lesson," Cas said in that damn sultry, teasing voice. Dean scoffed and shoved his shoulder but couldn't keep the amused, relieved breath from escaping his lips as Cas threw his head back and laughed. Cas was his usual self. Things weren't weird. Cas folded his hands atop Dean's chest and rested his chin there. It was a gesture that felt nearly as intimate as the kiss, and his body reacted accordingly – fluttering heart, dry mouth, and other natural body reactions he'd never admit to anyone. If Castiel noticed, he didn't say anything, and for that Dean was grateful.

"Are we okay, Dean?"  Those ridiculously sincere eyes that probably got him anything or anyone he wanted were waiting for him to answer. Dean couldn't find words, so he just swallowed and nodded. He knew they were okay, that their friendship was solid, but try telling that to his traitorous body screaming  _more_ and to the niggling thought of  _bad wrong queer_ in his mind. Cas watched him a moment longer, as if he suspected Dean was lying, but then said gently, "Okay, then you have to stop looking like you're a five-year-old who got caught shoplifting. Charlie suspects something, I can tell, and if she sniffs any sort of guilt or secret-keeping on you, she's gonna jump on it until she breaks you. I'm okay with keeping the kiss between us if you want to, but you're gonna tell on yourself if you can't put on a better poker face." Cas paused, then added, "Do you think what we did was wrong?"

How could Dean explain how something he was taught was so wrong felt so right?

"No?"

"When you can answer that without the question mark, you'll be ready to face Charlie. In the meantime," Cas said as he sat up on his elbows, "coffee. We have shit to do."   He sat up and held his hand out to pull Dean into a seated position. "I'll see you downstairs."

Cas left the room and closed the door before leaning on the wall and willing himself to breathe slowly; he thought about the kiss and the secrecy and about how they were just casually talking about a future that included each other.

Dean sat on the bed and thought the same thing.

 

***

 

If Dean thought Cas would refrain from teasing him further, he was very wrong. At the show that night, Cas' surprise song cover during the encore was one with which Dean was altogether too familiar. He whispered to Charlie and Benny just as they were leaving the stage, and when they returned for the encore Cas, somehow soaking wet, prowled the stage while the heavier-than-usual but still familiar synthesized notes began. He stepped up to the microphone, gripped his dripping hair, and sang in the lowest register Dean had heard from him:

 

_I made it through the wilderness_

_Somehow I made it through_

_Didn't know how lost I was_

_Until I found you..._

Cas continued in this manner through the first chorus of "Like a Virgin," rolling his hips and rubbing his chest and arms in the darkest, dirtiest version of the song Dean had ever heard.  Even he could admit it was hot, objectively speaking of course, and the audience clearly shared his opinion. Dean believed Cas might’ve been indirectly responsible for several babies being conceived that night after that performance. After the first verse and chorus, he moved around his bandmates to pretend to feel them up. He judiciously avoided Dean, though, until the second chorus, when he slung an arm around Dean from behind and pretended to grind into him as he sang:

 

_Like a virgin, hey_

_Touched for the very first time_

_Like a virgin_

_With your heartbeat_

_Next to mine..._

And just like mere hours ago, Cas emphasized the "hey" in a high pitch just like Madonna, right in his ear. He felt Cas' smile on the side of his face and his hand move to Dean's heart. Dean felt elated, nervous, self-conscious, wanted. He knew Cas was putting on an act, and had done similar things to the rest of the band. In fact, him not doing it with Dean would look odd, but still. Being on stage, he knew he couldn't freeze up and paralyze himself with his stupid thoughts, so he pretended the kiss didn't happen and pretended the feelings didn't happen and he did what the rest of his bandmates did: he played along. When Cas sank lower, he sank with him. When Cas pressed his wet chest against him, he leaned back into him as he layered a heavy riff on top of the synth. When Cas moved away, sliding his hand along his cheek as he did so, Dean smiled and winked. The audience went wild as they finished their dirty dancing routine and Cas rolled around on the floor of the stage, eventually singing to the crowd upside-down as he arched his back and pelvis toward the ceiling.

After the show, the band was buzzing. Benny commented on how far they've come and how well Dean fit with the group, and Dean finally believed it. He didn't need Benny or Ash or Charlie or even Cas to confirm it for him. He felt it. Everything felt right.

And later that night, when he was finally settled in his room, the high of the past 48 hours overshadowed immediately by his father's hateful words when he walked in the door, he drank until all the success and the kiss and the acceptance of people who really loved you felt like it all happened to someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs and other works referenced in this chapter:  
> Star Wars, movie (characters)  
> The Princess Bride, movie (characters)  
> Like a Virgin by Madonna


	7. Chapter 7

_August 2012_

Dean was pissed – at himself for trusting his father to take care of things, at the bank for foreclosing, at the band for not making the record yet so they could have more money, but mostly at his father for everything – and he needed to forget. He downed a beer, just to loosen up, then drove to Cas' house.

"I need to get laid, Cas," he said as he stormed into the studio, where Cas was working on a new song.

Cas didn't even look up from the notes he was making on the paper in front of him. "Well, I'm kinda busy now, but I could pencil you in at 11:30.  Top or bottom?  Or I have time for a hand job at 10:00 if that suits you."

"Ha ha, fucker," Dean mumbled. It hit a little too close to the truth of one of Dean's many internal wars.

Cas finished writing and placed his guitar on the rack. He returned to the couch, patting the space next to him. "Sit. Stay. Talk."

Dean collapsed next to his best friend and folded his arms. "We're losing the house."

"Oh shit. That sucks, man.  Why?"

"Because my father spent the last several months' mortgage payments on whatever and hid the mail from me.  He never did like that house. I think he was just looking for an excuse to have to blow town again."

"Again?"

"Yeah. He runs when he can't handle his shit. He's gonna just take us and run again. How can he do that to Sam? Kid's in the middle of high school. You don't do that to a kid. We've been to at least six different schools. I'm lucky I got to finish high school at all. Four years we've been here, Cas. It's the longest we've been anywhere. And now he's fuckin' sabotaged it again. We don't have the money to do anything about the house. It's gonna be gone. And hell, I don't even give a shit about that piece-of-shit house, I just don't want to move away from you. You guys, I mean. The band."

"Well, you're 19, you don't have to go.  But Sam, right?"

His best friend knew him all too well. "Yeah, Sam."

"So... how does getting laid solve your problem?"

"Control, my friend. It's all about control.  I can't do shit about losing our place to live, but I can get laid. I hope."

"You're going to gain control by losing control," Cas commented.  Dean gave him a questioning look. "You're going to give yourself over to someone, trust them with your body and have an orgasm. An orgasm is a form of losing control, done in a safe context." 

Dean became very uncomfortable with the idea of getting laid all of a sudden.

Cas saw the terror on his face and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Maybe you should rebel on a smaller scale. Make out with a bunch of people or something."  Dean laughed, and Cas laughed, which made Dean laugh even harder. Cas hadn't meant it to be funny, but playing it back to himself he could see how it could be taken that way. He was relieved, above any chagrin he might've felt about being misunderstood, that Dean's mind was a little lighter.

"Come on. I'll be your wingman."

Cas made a few phone calls and brought Dean to a party being thrown by a friend of a friend. Cas wasn't into parties all that much, given that most involved alcohol and shallow people, but his friend guaranteed that this would be a good one. It was at the guy's house, a mansion by most people's standards; the guy's father was a movie producer and the house was probably bought and paid for by daddy dearest since Cas didn't think the guy himself did anything more than socialize. Strobes and blacklight filled the rooms; people were huddled around either kegs or each other, masses of flesh writhing together to a techno beat. It made Cas think of their concerts and how different the same kind of scene could be.  At MTC shows everyone was there for one thing: the music.  There he felt confident, in charge, and connected to his bandmates and to everyone in the audience. Here, he felt wary. Dean seemed excited, though. Cas thought Dean probably needed something like this – something wild, gritty, and anonymous. Someplace where reality wasn't real. They met up briefly with Cas' friend and with the host of the party, then edged the dance floor.

"Gotta get out there, my friend," Cas hollered in Dean's ear.  Dean didn't have a lot of time to think, because a few girls surrounded them and pulled them into the throng. He felt awkward and stiff at first, but found his rhythm. He got himself into his stage persona – the confident, sexy, cocky guy who'd seen it all. It was a trick Cas taught him. Fake it 'til you make it, he'd said. And maybe Dean had taken it out of context, but it was working now. He had to make it work, because he had a beautiful girl in front of him who was feeling him up and sucking on his neck. He responded in kind, his hands following the curves of her body. Cas was dancing between a girl and a guy who'd come in together around the same time they did.  He kept his eyes on Dean, though, and when Dean moved away from the girl Cas grabbed his hand and led him toward the wet bar.

"Doing okay?" he asked as he got water for the both of them. Dean didn't argue, but did grab a plastic cup and guzzled some beer while Cas used the bathroom. He needed a little liquid courage.

Cas returned and took several swigs of water before dragging Dean to a darker part of the dance floor, where some sort of thrumming dance/rap/electronica remix was blaring out of the ostentatious speakers. Cas pulled him further into the middle and pointed out a guy who was checking Dean out. Dean was nervous, but the guy was pretty hot and the beat was thumping through his chest and the alcohol was doing its job. Dean met the other guy's eyes, and it was all the invitation the guy needed to approach Dean and pull him into the crowd.

Cas watched from a distance as Dean danced with, then eventually made out with the blond with the muscle shirt and skinny jeans.  He tried hard to detach himself and just observe, even if a cocktail of worry, protectiveness, and a pinch of jealousy was whirling in his gut. This was a big deal for Dean, after all, making out with a guy.  In public. In the dark, everything was anonymous, secret. Cas wondered whether he'd be doing the same in the light of day, without alcohol in him. Cas knew, of course, about the alcohol. He'd smelled it on his breath when he came to the house, and again when he returned from the bathroom. Cas tried not to freak out or assume anything. Given his history, he knew he was a little more sensitive about alcohol than most. But Dean seemed to be handling it well, didn't seem to be impaired in any way. If he was, Cas would certainly pull him from this situation. A woman sidled up to Cas and began talking his ear off. He turned on the charm – she was cute – but kept at least a bit of awareness in Dean's direction. He didn't want to hover, but he wanted his friend to be okay and he knew Dean was prone to anxiety. The woman kept talking despite his distractedness, but her obvious inebriation was a turnoff, so as tempted as he might be to get a little action to get his mind off things he kept her at arm's length. He caught sight of Dean making out with a different guy on the floor. He thought maybe he had something in his hand – a cup, maybe? – but ignored the strange urge to march up to him and demand to know what he was doing. He wasn't his partner or boyfriend or parent or whatever. He owed Cas no explanations. So as soon as he could politely extricate himself from the one-sided conversation with the lovely but drunk woman, he moved to the DJ platform and chatted up the bald, piercing-clad, goateed older man spinning the strangely hypnotic tunes. He felt more in his element there, and the guy, Jesse, was cool. They debated which Beatles song was the most underrated. They talked about Jesse’s day job as a DJ at a radio station and about MTC. They discussed whether original music even existed anymore. Castiel, despite being younger than his brother by a year, had an old soul and often felt more comfortable around people who were older and could hold an interesting conversation, those who were more thoughtful about life because they had experienced it. Jesse was interesting and treated Cas like an equal rather than a kid. When they parted, they traded business cards – the DJ's card a glossy, professionally designed card issued by the media company he worked for, and Cas' a card the band designed from templates on Vistaprint. Jesse promised Cas to play his band's music if they ever made a record, and Cas promised to give Jesse an exclusive interview if they ever made it big. Quite a bit of time had passed, and Cas decided he probably needed to find Dean now.

Dean was tipsy, he knew, but not out of it. His inhibitions were down enough to let himself kiss the three nameless guys on the dance floor, but not enough to be unable to give consent or to be unaware of how each guy and each kiss felt. Two of the guys were pretty cool and it felt pretty good to kiss them, Dean supposed, but not like Cas had been. The third guy was possessive and forceful. He'd taken Dean away from the crowd and backed him up against a wall as the nasty beat pulsed through the space. At first it felt good. He forgot about all of the shit and just lost himself in the moment, lost himself in being controlled by another, and he wondered if maybe he liked it a little rough. After a few minutes, though, the guy got more aggressive than Dean wanted, and he looked for a way to escape. Cas had warned him about this, about guys who might pressure him. Find a guy who will be good to you, Cas had said. He realized how badly he wanted to be with Cas right then, just hanging out.  Cas, who he trusted completely. Cas, who would never pressure him, who had been gentle and right.

"Dude, stop. I'm kinda new at this," Dean said as he tried to release himself from the man's grasp.

"All the better," he slurred back. "I'm an excellent teacher. And I like newbies."  His grip tightened and his stale breath, though hot, chilled Dean. They were in a dark, isolated hallway toward the back of the house, and no one was nearby. 

"Dude, really, not interested," Dean growled as he tried again to push the older, stronger man away from him. He wouldn't budge, and instead he wedged a leg between Dean's legs and pressed it into Dean's crotch. Dean could feel himself falling away, the anxiety ratcheting up as he tried and failed to stay present and clear-headed.  He was alone, no one around to hear him if he yelled, no one to rescue him from what was quickly becoming his own personal hell. His last coherent thought was that he had brought this upon himself.

Everything came in pieces then, jagged film clips he was watching from afar rather than living.  Pressure abruptly lifting off his body.  Growling.  Gentle hands, a firm but loving voice. Blue, so blue.  A solid support around his waist, his feet moving under him.  Strobe lights to streetlights.  Goosebumps. Heavy bass line to high-pitched whining in an otherwise silent, open space. It was the sound of his ringing ears.  The cool of the summer night.  The street where the car was parked. A warm, welcome, familiar body by his side.  Cas.  Cas. Oh, thank God, Cas.

"Dean, babe, be here with me. You're safe. Breathe."

Castiel had to ask around for Dean. He spotted the first guy he'd kissed earlier, the blond, and interrogated him, turning his attention to the second guy he'd kissed when said guy showed up to protect his friend. They both described the third guy, a dark-haired older guy a little bigger than Dean, wearing a black striped button-down shirt and black jeans, and they pointed in the general direction they thought the two went. Asking around and looking like a crazy man probably helped him find them much faster, which he thanked the Lord for when he saw what was going down.

He wrapped an arm strengthened by yoga and boxing around the asshole's throat from behind, yanking the man away from Dean and against the opposite wall.  He held the man against the wall with his forearm pressed into the man's Adam's apple and stared at him with cold, hard eyes. The man's eyes appeared to be vibrating in his head.

"Touch him, speak to him, look at him again, and I will kill you. Clear?"

The man nodded.

"I want to hear you say it," he growled, his tone low and dangerous.

"I, I won't go anywhere near him," the man gasped.

"No, you won’t.  Get the fuck out of my face, you worthless piece of shit."  He shoved the man down the hall and turned to Dean, who looked far, far away.

"Dean, it's okay, you're okay. Look at me. It's just me, just my hands on your face. I'm not gonna hurt you. Yeah, look at me, focus on me. Good. Let's get out of here, alright?  Lean on me and walk, I can't carry your ass outta here."  The last part was probably untrue, but he wanted Dean to do something to get back into his body. Castiel led him through the rooms of sweaty people and strobe lights and smoke machines, over beer-sticky floors and people sprawled over every horizontal surface, to the cool-in-comparison reprieve of the outdoors. The quiet of the residential neighborhood stood in stark contrast to the noise of the party, and Cas felt his ears complain. He usually wore earplugs if shit was that loud, for which he was mercilessly harassed, but they'd taken Dean's car and he'd forgotten to grab them from his own. He allowed his friend to lean on him as he walked them to the car parked on the street.  Dean seemed to be coming around after what Cas believed was a panic attack.

"Dean, babe, be here with me. You're safe. Breathe."  Why had he called him babe? That was something they only joked about.  Fuck. As if Dean needed something else to worry about now with such a close call from that dickhead.  But it was too late now and he hadn’t reacted negatively.  Cas decided to forget the slip of the tongue and focus on getting Dean to breathe normally.  He leaned him against the car and started rubbing his arms vigorously. "Dean, bud, you with me?"  The warmth in the eyes staring back at him told him that yes, Dean was back.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm with you, Cas," Dean said. He looked at Cas – his savior in ways Cas didn't even understand – and couldn't help it. He pulled his best friend's face down to his own and kissed him hard. It was filled with gratitude for saving him, for helping him, for caring for him, for accepting him. It was desire and it was connection. It was an answer to a question Dean had since the first time they kissed months ago.

Cas was shocked by the kiss, and thought it had to be a reaction of some sort to everything that just happened to Dean. He was overwhelmed, the adrenaline flooding his system, the relief of being rescued from potential rape making him act. Right?  And yet, oh, he didn't want to break this. It gave him an awful sense of guilt, like he was the one taking advantage now. But Dean was warm and present and his body and tongue were insistent, and when Cas opened his eyes to check on Dean, green eyes were already gazing back at him, certain and willing. Cas opened up to him then, mouth softening and his own tongue meeting Dean's as he closed his eyes and surrendered.  It was glorious. Dean felt like everything Cas had ever wanted. Yet, he tasted like beer, and Cas wasn't sure how much he'd had to drink and whether this was something he would want tomorrow. So he ended the kiss gently and pulled his friend into a hug, rocking him and burying his face into Dean's shoulder, embracing him as much for himself as for Dean as he tried to stave off the tears.

For a moment, Dean was confused. He was just feeling really, really good, the best he's felt all night, and then it just stopped. But then he was being held in the arms of his best friend, and he was suddenly feeling at once vulnerable and safe, and he wanted to go home.

"Can I spend the night at your house?" he said into Cas' hair.

"Of course," Cas responded. He drew back and looked at Dean's trusting eyes. God, how could anyone do anything wrong to this man?  "But give me your keys. I'm driving."

He handed them over without comment. Later, he curled up next to Cas without shame in Cas' bed. Dean fell asleep right away. Cas lay awake and thought about Dean and his horrible situation and their kiss and the alcohol on his breath.

The light of day brought certain realizations to Dean. First, his mouth tasted like cotton. Second, his family was still losing their home, and soon. Third, he kissed one girl and three guys last night, four if you counted Cas. And four, oh yeah, he kissed Cas.

Okay. Damage control time.

He drank last night. Shit. He shouldn't have done that, and certainly not when he was with Cas. What the hell was wrong with him?  He knew Cas had a thing about that. Hell, Dean should have a thing about that, given his father's screw ups, but Dean knew he could enjoy a beer or two responsibly. He hadn't gotten drunk at all. Still, he wasn't being a very good friend. Another one in the "Dean screws up everything he touches" column.

The house. Damn it. Well, even if he could afford a lawyer, it was probably too late. And screw it, the place was a dump. But he didn't want to go to South Dakota to live with Uncle Bobby and Aunt Jody, no matter how awesome they were. He didn't want to leave the band. He didn't want to leave Sam, although at least at Bobby and Jody's he knew he'd be okay. But what if Dad didn't go there? What if he went somewhere else? Or what if he only stayed there a short while and then left for God-knows-where?  He could lose track of Sam. And his father knew how to not be found. So he had to convince his Dad to stay in town, or he had to somehow keep him and Sam here on his own.

He let a bunch of strangers kiss him. The girl was fine, nothing special. The guys were a little better, yeah.  But none of them were Cas. And oh God, he kissed Cas again. He even initiated it. Was he gay? Or just gay for Cas? Was that a thing?  Was he even attracted to Cas that way, or was he twisting their friendship into something it wasn't? He had no idea what it was all supposed to feel like. What he did know was that kissing Cas was like free falling – weightless, breathless, exhilarating, and strangely peaceful when it should be scary as hell.

So what now?  He knew he was in Cas' bed, so either Cas felt things were okay between them or he was being nice. If he shut off the self-doubt that constantly plagued him, he knew that Cas was his friend, had been over a year now, and that things were probably fine. He was right next to him, a solid presence in an uncertain future. He could trust him. They could talk. Maybe he could even say out loud the confusion in his head.

Dean didn't realize he was singing until Cas began singing backup.

Cas felt Dean stirring near him, and the sighing and clutching of the sheets told him that he was either having a private moment (which made Cas chuckle to himself, then forced him to think of very unsexy things to counteract the first foolish thought) or he was thinking about the last 24 hours and was freaking out, which was more likely. When he started singing "Free Fallin'," Cas thought it was probably safe to let him know he was awake. Besides, this song totally reflected Dean's likely train of thought – everything was out of control and he just wanted to leave this world for a while. Cas felt a pang of guilt thinking about the night before; he should’ve been keeping a better eye on him.  He needed to know how Dean was doing after all that. So he didn't move, but sang backup to Dean's lyrics.  Gabe pounded on the wall their bedrooms shared to indicate his displeasure with their loud, spontaneous singing.  The friends laughed but stopped singing.

"That song always makes me think of OOB," Cas said, grin and eyes wide and warm. Dean gazed at his friend and smiled in return.

"Me too, man."  He thought back to Becky and Carver's spontaneous decision to take the boys skydiving during their beach vacation (he called it a late birthday gift for Sam, lied about his age to get him in and said he was his father – Carver could be a deceptive dude).  Dean never would have imagined doing something so crazy, but Cas had talked him into it, and despite the plane ride (which he didn't like so much but got through by clutching Sam's and Cas' arms), the dive itself was one of the most amazing things he'd ever done. He remembered seeing the exhilaration, the  _life_  on Sam’s face and being so proud of him and so happy he could have this. He looked at Gabe and Becky and Carver and was infinitely grateful for their presence in his life, even if Gabe was a pain in the ass sometimes. And then he looked at Cas. Despite the instructors strapped to them and the others falling around them, it felt like he and Cas were the only ones there, floating in space, and Cas looked just like an angel – eyes that reflected the sky, a glow from the inside that split his face into a laugh, and his attention fully, completely on Dean, watching his reaction just as Dean was watching his.  Cas stuck his tongue through his teeth and gave him a hang ten hand sign, which made Dean laugh harder than it should've. Dean returned it and gave him a thumbs-up. They'd been free falling, together, away from everyone and everything.  Dean had hoped then it would always be that way.

"You should do that cover at encore tonight," Cas said after a moment.

"Really?  You think?"  He'd always let Cas have the surprise cover at the encore. He hadn't really thought about doing it himself. He never seemed to have thoughts or emotions that were worth expressing.

"Sure, why not?  Seems that free falling is on your mind. Getting away. When I have shit going on in my head, it helps me clear it a little."

Dean frowned in consideration.  "Yeah, maybe I will."

"Nice."  He turned and sat up on one elbow. "How are you doing this morning?"

"With what?"

"Take your pick."

Dean rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Well, somehow I have to convince my father to stay here, or to at least let us stay here. I gotta figure out how to support Sam. And I’m still not sure kissing women really does it for me.  I think that sums it up."

Cas waited for him to continue, knowing it didn't sum it up.  Dean saw Cas' bullshit monitor arch.

"Don't raise your eyebrow at me."

He switched to the other brow.

"Asshole."

Both brows.

"Okay, jeez, who made you the Gay Crisis Police?"  No one who knew him casually would have noticed the slight twitch of the corner of his mouth that told Dean he found that hilarious but was trying not to. He took it as a win. But Cas didn't stop staring. He sighed and continued. "As for the other guys, they were better than any women I've kissed or, you know. I mean the last one was an ass, of course, but it was okay at first." 

“Are you okay after all that?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Not your fault, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”  He looked away from Castiel but said, "Thanks for finding me."  Cas squeezed his arm in acknowledgement but said nothing else. 

Dean switched back to the previous subject.  "But what I don't get is that the guys were better, but still not, like, wow, you know?"

Cas frowned.  "Well, maybe you just haven't found a good match yet."

Dean pointedly did not look at Cas, but mumbled, "Maybe you're just a better kisser."

Cas caught what he said and wondered how to react. Was what he was saying really what he meant – that he believed Cas had better technical skill? Or did he really mean something more?  "Well thanks for the compliment," he joked softly. "Maybe you're the kind of person who needs to know someone first, you know? Maybe you need to be more connected to them before you feel anything."  He hesitated – did he really want to go there? – then said, "Does it feel different kissing me?"

Oh no, Dean thought.  How could he not make this completely weird while lying right next to his best friend, who wasn't even wearing a shirt?  Fuck.... "Uh, yeah, well, it's... different."   _Brilliant, Winchester._

"Don't beat around the damn bush. Is it better or worse?"

Holy shit, was he serious?  Did he not feel it? Maybe it was one-sided. Maybe he's been with so many other people that being with Dean is ho-hum, nothing special. "It's, uh, better. For me anyway."

Cas had no visible reaction.  "Okay, that gives us information.  It's like a science experiment. We need to eliminate variables. So women maybe are a no go, men seem okay but not fabulous, strangers probably aren't your thing, and kissing me felt the best out of all of the situations you were in. So, maybe that means we have to figure out why it works for you to kiss me. What's so great about it?"

Fuck, were they really having this conversation?  "Okay, this is weird, I'm spilling my guts and you don't have to reveal anything. Not fair."

"What do you want to know?"

"Do you have a preference? Male or female?"

"Not really, no."

"So you get equally turned on by both."

"Yeah."

"Okay, do you like to make out with strangers?"

"Occasionally, but not really. I'm not that trusting usually. I was more, uh, indiscriminate when I was younger but I'm kinda watching my ass a little more now. When the band gets big I don't want to have a sordid past."  He winked at Dean, who rolled his eyes.

"Okay... um..." He wasn't sure if he really wanted the answer, but he remembered what Charlie said about the bandmates being able to talk about the tough stuff. "Don't laugh or give me shit when I ask this, alright?"

Cas' face softened immediately as he murmured, "Of course I won't."  He pressed an Iggy to his heart and Dean's nerves melted and dripped into a puddle on the floor. Of course Cas had him. Cas had never run, had never ridiculed him. He encouraged him and supported him and all that other emotional crap.

"Um, does it feel different kissing me?"

Cas swallowed but kept his gaze on Dean. "Honest-to-God truth? Yeah, it does.  It's weird to say that to one of my best friends, but yeah."

They lay in silence, simply looking at each other as the mid-morning sun striped the gray sheets.

"I think," Cas continued cautiously, "that maybe it's because we know each other so well. I haven't really had that in most of my relationships. I mean I had a couple where we were pretty close, but not really like you and me. Maybe that's the variable, right? Having that relationship."  Dean nodded, not knowing what else to say or do when he felt so overwhelmed. "And I think, to answer the question I asked you about me before, what's so great about kissing you is that you trust me, and you give yourself over to me because you know I won't do anything bad to you. Plus, hey, you have skills."  He winked and Dean shoved him half-heartedly. "So, answer the question now."

"Okay, well, I think what's great about it for me is that you're just really patient and careful, and you just make it fun and I don't have to be someone I'm not because you know it all anyway. So, yeah, I think it just makes me be able to let go and enjoy it I guess."

"You don't have to think," he replied as he combed through Dean's hair.

"Yeah, exactly."

"You do a lot of thinking."

"Huh, yeah, I guess I do."

"I know you do."

"I know you know I do."

"This could go on for a while."

"I know."

They giggled in a sleep-deprived sort of way for a bit.

"So, do you want to talk any more about it? Any of it?"

"Not right now. But maybe another time?"

"Of course. Any time. You know that."

"I know."

Dean lost himself in "Free Fallin'" that night, and the crowd loved it and sang along, getting lost right along with him. Sam was in the front losing himself in it, too, and Dean was happy he could do something to alleviate the boy's stress.

 

_November 2012_

"We're not going!" Dean yelled for the hundredth time, it seemed. He'd sent Sam away the night before to stay at Ash's with him, his mother Ellen, and his sister Jo so that his father couldn't find him easily. He'd tried for weeks, months to get his father to listen to reason. At first he tried to get him to fight the foreclosure, to find a way to get some cash or get a loan or something, but he refused. Then Dean tried to get him to stay in the area, his pleas of "Sam is in high school, Dad" and "Sam has friends here, Dad" falling on deaf ears. He never bothered to focus the argument on himself, since he doubted it would matter and, truthfully, he didn't have to stay anyway. But he didn't want to get separated from Sam. His father didn't even know where he was going. His grand plan was to drive until he found a place he could find a job. Dean's guess is that they'd end up in a shelter or couch surfing with his father's old military buddies, or probably with Uncle Bobby eventually.

"You damn well are!" his father inevitably responded. He didn't think of what was best for his kids, because his kids weren't people. They were property. They were to pack up and follow like moving boxes.  But Dean was done with following. His confidence was greater since becoming friends with his bandmates and getting to know their families. There were other ways of being. He needed that for Sammy, and it might be too late for him, but he needed it for himself too. Dean had no idea what they were going to do next, but he would do whatever he needed to do to take care of his brother.

"We aren't, and that's final!"  Dean stomped toward the door. His father spun him around and spittle sprayed from his mouth onto Dean's face as he yelled incoherently at Dean about family and loyalty and obedience. Dean could feel his resolve start to crumble as the familiar panic crept into his system. He wished he'd had a drink before confronting his father, just to take the edge off. He could feel himself slipping as he struggled for air, one of his father's hands fisted into his collar and the other punching him in the face.

Sam was a mess. Cas could tell by the way the normally ebullient boy sat quietly as he let Ash beat him at Scrabble. Ash and Cas shared a look over the board as Sam played the word "cat" when he could have easily played the word "scatter." 

"Sam," Cas called as the boy once again drifted into his own world. "Listen, I'm gonna go check on him, okay?"

"I'll go with you," Sam said as he started to stand.

"Nope, sorry. I'm under strict orders not to let you back there."

"But Cas..."

"No, man. Your dad isn't gonna just let go, okay?  Your dad is sick, Sam. He's not in a good place in his head to take care of you.  Your uncle is gonna come and deal with him, but for now, you just have to wait it out. I'll go check and make sure everything is okay. Bobby might be there already. Maybe that's what's taking so long."

Sam didn't say another word, but did reach out and pull Cas into a hug. Sam was like the little brother Cas never had, and he loved the kid.  He suspected that, like Dean, Sam was rarely touched in a loving way, and he took every opportunity to reassure his little brother through touch – a hug, a pat on the shoulder, a nudge of the elbow when he was teasing him (or they were conspiring against their brothers).  Sam, at least, had the benefit of having Dean, and his big brother did what he could. He tried to show Sam he was loved, and Sam did the same for Dean. Cas only wished Dean didn't have to take so much responsibility, didn't have to be both parents for him.

"Be careful," Sam pleaded into Cas' shoulder. He patted Sam on the back and assured him he would.

Cas drove the familiar path to Dean's. He'd developed enough of a relationship with him so that he'd been to the house a few times – he didn't stay long and it was always when John wasn't around, but Dean trusted him enough to allow it. The sight he witnessed when he pulled into the driveway had him seeing red. He jumped out of the car and ran toward his friend, who was being assaulted by his father. A crowd was gathered and yelling for the older Winchester to stop, but no one would get involved otherwise. Someone was on the phone, and Cas hoped it was with the police, but he didn't take the time to ask.

He threw himself into the melee, pulling his best friend away from his father and getting punched in the side of his head for his troubles.

"Get off him, asshole!" Cas screamed at John, fending off his blows with one arm while hanging on to Dean's waist with the other. 

Cas vaguely heard the rumble of a vehicle barreling into the yard, and then a burly, bearded man rushed in to assist. He wedged between Cas and John.  "What in the hell are you thinking, John? Hitting a kid? Get your ass in the house!"  He shoved the man into the doorway and watched him stumble inside before he turned to Cas and Dean.

"You all right, kid?" the man asked.

"Me? Yeah.  Let's get a look at Dean," Cas mumbled. He did feel a little lightheaded, but he pushed it aside. They sat Dean down on the rotting wooden stairs and checked him over. When the man was satisfied that Dean was shaken up and bloody but coherent, he gave him a hug and grumbled something into his ear that made Dean smile and minutely nod his head.

The police and ambulance arrived. Dean and Cas were checked over and John was arrested, guaranteeing him a place to live for the next couple of days at least. Cas called Sam at Ash's house to let him know what was happening, and he gave the phone to Dean so the brothers could be assured of each other's safety and well-being.  Carver and Becky met Dean, Cas, and Bobby at the police station, where the older adults convinced Dean and Castiel to press charges for assault, then everyone went to the courthouse to file protection orders for Dean, Sam, and Cas. Bobby began the process of obtaining guardianship of Sam, with Carver and Becky as co-guardians. Unbeknownst to Dean or Cas, the older adults had already been talking over the phone about this possibility, Becky having gotten Bobby's number from Sam a couple of weeks ago. They had all suspected it might come to this. When Bobby explained that they'd be living with Becky and Carver while Sam finished his last two years of school so no one had to be uprooted, Dean nearly cried with relief as he thanked them all.  They reassured him that they loved them both and wanted them to be in the best place for them, "and you can't be a rock star in South Dakota, now can ya boy?" Bobby said.

Bobby stayed for several days with the Edlund-Rosens.  Sam and Dean showed him around and they went to a hockey game and a parent night at Sam’s school and they took him to a diner with the best meatloaf.  MTC had a show the night before Bobby was scheduled to take John back to South Dakota for rehab, so all of the band and their families met for dinner, and Dean and Sam proudly introduced Bobby to the others.  The families traveled to the show to watch “their kids” – it was never “my kid and his/her friends” – perform.  Despite the fact that their music might not have been some of the parents’ preferred genre, they hollered and cheered their support with every song.  The band even pointed out their families in the audience, and when Dean introduced Bobby as “my uncle and the guy who showed me what a dad should be” the older man’s eyes got a little glassy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song referenced in this chapter:  
> Free Fallin’ by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers


	8. Chapter 8

_June 2013_

Life had changed quite a bit for Dean in the last several months.  His father disappeared off the radar shortly after signing himself out AMA from rehab.  He hadn’t tried to get in touch with his sons as far as Dean knew.  He and Sam had been living with Cas and his family since November, and it had been an oasis of safety and sanity.  They each had their own cell phones and their own bedrooms and their own keys and they knew the alarm passcode.  It had been the best Christmas and the best birthdays of Dean’s and Sam’s young lives thus far.  Dean still snuck a drink here or there when the guilt of dad’s shit or his own self-doubt got in the way, but he didn’t drink at their house because he didn’t want to disrespect Carver’s hospitality or jeopardize his sobriety, and he found he mostly didn’t need it.  He started to work out, his voice and stage presence were stronger, and he slept better.  Most importantly, Sam was safe and included; he was expected to do chores and he usually accompanied them to concerts and sold the t-shirts and demo CDs they’d made.  Dean was feeling pretty good, all things considered. 

He’d been afraid that it might get strange for him and Cas, that all of their togetherness might make them want to claw each other’s eyes out.  He found that it only brought them closer.  Having separate rooms helped.  Honesty helped, too, after they’d come to blows one night and figured out they just needed to be able to tell each other when they needed to be alone.  But mostly, living together under the same roof was good for them.  They got together and wrote music whenever the mood struck.  Cas helped Sam with homework and was like another big brother for him, which brought Dean comfort rather than jealousy.  They hung out and played video games and Cas taught Dean the business of running a band while Dean taught Cas how to cook.  Despite their heart-to-heart, they hadn’t kissed since last August, after Cas dragged him out of that party, and hadn’t talked about it any further.  Dean attributed the low hum he felt in his gut whenever he was around Cas to their close friendship, even though he didn’t feel quite the same hum with anyone else. 

He tried not to take it personally when Cas said he was going back to therapy.

This was revealed to him during a practice.  During a short break, Cas asked if they could change their practice schedule on Wednesday to a later time. 

“Sure, what’s up?” Charlie asked.

“I’m gonna start seeing Hannah again.”

Dean’s heart leapt to his throat while his stomach jumped off the high dive.  Cas hadn’t talked about dating anybody.  He’d been saying he was too busy with getting ready for their first album. 

“Oh yeah?  That’s cool.  You guys made a good connection,” Charlie commented.

“Tell her I say hi,” Benny chimed.

“Why?” Ash asked.  Finally, the question that was on Dean’s mind.

Cas shrugged.  “Just a tune-up before we get into the recording and touring.  Keep me at peak, you know?”

Everyone nodded and got ready to continue practice.  They had a bunch of songs they wanted to tweak before they got into the studio.  Dean went through the motions of grabbing his guitar and standing at the mic, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Hannah.  A tune-up?  Keeping him at peak?  Jealousy ripped through his core.

 _Honesty.  We’re together all the time.  We have to be honest._   “Uh, Cas?  Who the hell is Hannah?”

Cas gave him a puzzled look.  “My therapist.  I told you I went to therapy before.” 

“Oh.”  Dean was relieved it wasn’t an old girlfriend.  Relief turned to fear that he was going back because Dean and Sam were living with him now and it was stressing him out.  He pushed through it and they got through the rest of their practice.

“I’m not going to therapy because I hate living with you or some shit,” Cas said from Dean’s bedroom doorway that night. 

“I know,” Dean answered in a tone that suggested he did not know anything of the sort.

“No, you don’t know,” Cas challenged.  “Can I come in?”  Dean nodded and Cas closed the door behind him and sat down.  “Dean, I really like living with you.  I thought maybe we might get on each other’s nerves or something, like brothers, but we don’t.  I like hanging with you.  I like knowing we’re going home to the same place.”  He smiled, and Dean smiled back, the low hum building a little higher.  “It’s just that I know recording is going to be its own kind of stress, and that along with a tour is going to be a lot for all of us.  There’s a lot of shit out on the road, Dean.  Sex, drugs and rock and roll is not a phrase that exists for nothing.  There are temptations, and there are nasty people, and I don’t want to get sucked into the machine.  I’ve always wanted to float above it, because I’m serious about my work.   But sometimes I’m too serious, and I know that.  It’s one of those things that comes with being the child of an alcoholic.  Hannah helps me find some balance.  She reminds me of my triggers and my coping skills and my own tendencies.  It’s really a good thing, Dean.”

He had been kind of a hard ass lately, Dean thought with a chuckle.  “She got you into that meditation shit, didn’t she?”

“No.  Clint Eastwood did, actually.  I read that he meditated and decided to try it.  Lots of musicians and actors meditate.  Eddie Vedder, Sting, Paul McCartney…”

Dean made an impressed face.  “That’s badass.”

“You should try it sometime.”

“Maybe.”  He jokingly leered at his friend.  “Will you help me find my Zen, Cas?”

And that was the other reason why Castiel was going back to therapy: his increasing attraction to Dean Winchester.  He needed to get his damn hormones under control.  He needed to find his own damn Zen. 

“Maybe I will,” Cas said through his smoldering eyes and dark lashes, adding his teasing grin.   

The low hum in Dean’s gut swelled into a crescendo.

 

***

 

The undercurrent between Castiel and Dean didn’t go unnoticed by their bandmates. 

“What the hell’s up between them?” Benny asked while they were waiting for Dean and Cas to arrive at the venue Friday night.  Ash shrugged.  Charlie was curiously quiet.

“What do you know, missy?” Benny squinted suspiciously at her. 

“I don’t  _know_  anything.  I just suspect.”

“Suspect what?” Ash asked.

“That they have a little thing for each other.”

The men thought about it for a moment.  “I didn’t know Dean swung that way,” Ash commented.

“I’m not sure Dean knows how he swings,” Charlie said. 

Benny scowled.  “Huh.  That’s probably true.  His father fucked him up good.  Probably filled his head with bullshit.”  The others nodded. 

“Cas would be good for him,” Charlie decided. 

“They’d be good together, yeah, but he can’t rescue him, Char.  He’s gotta get healthy and unfucked on his own.  You know how it is.”

“Not totally on his own, Ben.  We can support him.”

“Well, yeah, of course.”

Charlie paused.  “I hope Cas doesn’t get hurt, though,” she finally said.

The men nodded.  They heard a commotion and peered through to the next room, where Cas and Dean were arguing and laughing as they both tried to fit through the door at the same time.  Cas won and Dean immediately jumped onto his back, causing Cas to screech under the weight of the taller man.

“You made me bite my tongue, asshole!” Cas cried as he bucked Dean off him and onto a ratty couch. 

“Aww, want me to kiss it better?” Dean asked mockingly as he made smooching noises.  He grabbed one of Cas’ belt loops and yanked him down, causing Cas to land in his lap.

“No, fuck you,” Cas scowled as he tried not to laugh.  “Is it bleeding?  It’s bleeding, dick.  Look at it.”  He stuck his tongue out for Dean to examine.

“Bleeding dick?  You should have that checked.”

“Asshole.  Look at what you did and feel shame, would you?”

Dean examined it closely.  “It’s barely bleeding.  Suck it up.  Oh wait, your tongue is hurt, won’t be doing that anytime soon.”

“Your loss,” Cas smirked as Dean’s eyes widened.  He grabbed Dean’s hand, which had been holding his chin open to look at Cas’ injury, and turned it over before licking a stripe down the back, streaking blood and saliva down to his wrist.

“Dude!”

“Serves you right for ambushing and injuring me!”

Dean knocked Cas onto the worn coffee table in front of the couch, scattering magazines onto the floor.  He pinned Cas down with a hand to the shoulder as he tried to wipe the saliva off his hand and onto Cas’ shirt, Cas doing his best to push Dean away.  The two were in such hysterics they didn’t notice their bandmates watching them from the next room. 

“So much for Cas not getting hurt,” Ash noted.

“So much for a ‘little’ thing for each other,” Benny smiled.  The three shook their heads affectionately at their friends.

“You’re both children!” Charlie called from the doorway.  They immediately stopped and stood up, looking awkward and a little guilty.

“He started it,” Cas tattled, trying to look serious as he suppressed a giggle.

Dean folded his arms and looked at the floor, suppressing a giggle of his own.  “Traitor.”

“You’ve been on my ass all day challenging me to all kinds of shit, you overgrown man-child.”  He turned to their band.  “Do you know he willingly swallowed that hot sauce my brother likes?  A spoonful, straight down!  It was nasty and an unnecessary demonstration of your manhood, Dean.”

“You’re jealous ‘cause I’m awesome.”

Cas ignored him.  “It made him cry.  Also, do you know he can fit ten of those big marshmallows in his mouth at once?  It was disturbing.  I feared for his life.”

 “I was fine.  Again, jealous.  You wish you could fit that much in your mouth.”

“You wanna know how much I can fit in my mouth?  I have references.” 

Dean blushed furiously. “Cas, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered as he rubbed his face, wishing he could wipe the scarlet off. 

“Aaand a point for me, thanks,” Cas smirked as he licked his finger and made a tally mark in the air. 

When their friends had stopped rolling in laughter over Cas’ comeback to Dean, Charlie asked, “So, have you guys just been competing all day?”

“Yes, but we’re tied now.  Probably a good place to  _stop_ ,” Cas emphasized as he found a bottle of water.  Dean shook his head.

“Oh, no, there has to be a winner, Cas.”

“There doesn’t.”

“There does.”

“May I make a suggestion?” Charlie interfered before they could get into another argument.  “How about a sing-off tonight?  Winner gets… well, whatever you guys decide.”  She raised her eyebrows.

“I like it,” they said together.

The crowd was energetic and a little frenzied; it was the perfect show at which to introduce their sing-off, which Charlie did about midway through the show. 

“Alright, so listen up.  These assholes over here,” Charlie pointed to Cas and Dean, who raised their arms up and smirked, “have been competitive little snots all day.  So, we’re settling it tonight.  They’re each going to sing snippets of songs of their choosing, back and forth.  When they’re done, you’re going to let us know who wins.  The winner will get… what’s the winner get, guys?”

“Whatever he wants,” Cas said, dangerously low, leering at the audience.  The crowd roared.  Dean shook his head at his friend’s antics.

"Rock, paper, scissors determines who goes first!" Dean declared, and he won.

The men conferred with their bandmates and agreed to shout out their selections to them before each one.  Dean looked at Cas smugly before he brought the house down with “Back in Black.”  Cas answered with “Selling the Drama.”  Audience applause gave the point to Dean.  Dean looked at Cas smugly.  Cas simply nodded and clapped for him.  Dean sang “Caught in a Mosh” and won again over Cas' “A Secret Place.”  Dean was feeling very confident as he tore into “One.”  Cas nodded, looking impressed, before riling up the audience with a performance of “Firestarter” that won him the round easily. 

"Not bad, Cas.  The audience finally felt bad for you," Dean provoked.

"Oh, no, honey, I just lulled you into a sense of security before going in for the kill."

The crowd and the band oohed at the retort.

"We'll see, pretty boy."

"Bring it," Cas intoned so low Dean's body took notice. To stave off his self-consciousness, he turned on his most sensual voice and sang "I'm Too Sexy," complete with a shake of his ass on the stage he pretended was a catwalk. The crowd whistled their approval.

"Beat that, sweetheart," Dean said cockily to Cas.

"Hmm. I don't know if I can, but I'll try," Cas answered Dean as he winked at the audience. He purred "I Want Your Sex" and made eye contact with practically every person in the audience as he felt himself up and whipped off his jacket and revealed a too-tight shirt. He won the round easily. Even Dean conceded his defeat, showily pulling at his shirt as if cooling himself off.

"We have a tie!" Charlie declared.

"Tiebreaker!" Ash began to chant, and the crowd eagerly chanted with him.

Dean and Cas had a conversation onstage about what they should do to break the tie. Benny came down and suggested having the audience decide. They started shouting out suggestions, until Benny pulled someone from the audience wearing one of their t-shirts. She came onto the stage and shyly stood between the two singer-guitarists. The two men towered over the petite female, whose name was Ellie. They both greeted her warmly as Benny played emcee.

"Okay, Ellie, so are you Team Dean or Team Castiel?" Benny asked.

Ellie blushed and said in a tiny voice, "I can't decide. They're both awesome."  The audience and the band erupted in a chorus of "aww"s as Dean and Cas each gave her a hug.

“You can admit it,” Cas said as he draped an arm over her shoulders, “you can’t stand either one of us.  Probably Team Charlie, right?  Everyone is.”

The audience laughed and whooped. Her eyes glistened and she licked her lips as she looked at his open, smiling face.  She pulled Castiel to her side and hugged him tightly.  Into the mic, she said, “Um, yeah, actually.  Like, I, um, play for that team?”  She looked with fear into the audience, as if searching for someone.  The crowd clapped and cheered in support.  Benny pulled another woman out of the audience and onto the stage.  Ellie and the other woman had a brief talk and a hug.  

Ellie turned back to Cas nervously and said, “Um, so yeah, just came out to my best friend at an MTC show, no big deal.”  The band and the crowd applauded.  “Um, and, uh, I just wanted to say thanks to you and Charlie for being, like, open about your sexuality and stuff.  Sometimes I felt really alone, but I’d listen to your music and hear you guys talk to each other and I didn’t feel so alone.  It, like, gave me the courage…”  She became overwhelmed with emotion, and Charlie and Cas wrapped her and her friend between them and hugged her.  Dean, Benny and Ash smiled at the scene before them; Dean was particularly impressed by her bravery and wished he had more of it.

When Ellie had collected herself, Charlie stood to her side and Cas kept an arm wrapped around her.  “So I’m gonna tell you a story, Ellie, and this is for all of you guys, too.  So this is Iggy.”  He held the band’s special hand sign to his heart, then into the air.  “We call him our crooked dog.  See his ears?  He’s a little off center, just like us,” he laughed and the band and crowd joined him.  “Anyway.  When Ben and I were 12, our fathers were drunks.  I say that in the most loving but honest way, because they’re cleaned up now, but yeah.  So, we were kind of complaining about being left out there to sort of fend for ourselves while our families dealt with that shit.  He was fighting with his brother and I was having my first real-life boy crush – unrequited, by the way, so that was just awkward.  Life kinda sucked.  So I told him, ‘I got you, I swear, man’ and I stuck up my pinky like we were gonna do a pinky promise.  Yeah, yeah, leave it to the bisexual dude of the group to do the pinky swear, I know.”  The audience laughed and Ellie giggled.  “Meanwhile, Benny’s telling me at the same time ‘fuck ‘em all’ and holding up his middle finger.  Benny’s more manly than me.  So we combined it.  We’re nerds, we know.  But whenever we need some support, whenever we’re feeling alone or unsure, we flash the Iggy, and we just get it.  So it’s yours now, too.  When you’re feeling alone, we’ve got you, fuck the rest.”  He held the sign up to her, then to the audience.  The crowd and the band mimicked his movement, then roared in approval.  He turned and gave Ellie another hug and a smile.

“Now, how are we gonna break this tie?” he asked her.

“Okay, so… I challenge you guys to each sing a Britney Spears song.  Whoever does it best wins.” 

“Are you trying to kill me, Ellie?” Cas asked humorously. 

“Ellie has spoken!  Let it begin!” Benny yelled, then took his place at his drum kit.  Charlie helped Ellie and her friend back into the crowd before taking her place at the keyboard.

The crowd snickered as Dean turned and yelled his song choice.  “Baby One More Time” started to play, and he exaggerated his hip movements as he sang and pranced around the stage.  When he was finished, he turned to Cas. 

“I’m afraid I have to concede defeat,” Cas groaned.  “I don’t know any Britney songs.”  The crowd cheered as Dean galloped around the stage, pumping his fists in victory. 

“So, what’ll your prize be, Dean?” Ash asked into his mic.

He pretended to think about it as Cas looked on.  “It’ll probably be very unexciting,” Cas commented, goading his friend.  “Like, do his laundry or something.  We live together.  He’s very boring.  Unimaginative.”  He looked at his friend and smiled sweetly, the challenge lying beneath. 

“Oh, suck it, Cas,” Dean scowled.  The crowd cheered.

Not to be outdone, Cas rumbled, “Mmm, there’s an idea.  Not as boring as I thought.”  He smirked, knowing he’d lured Dean right into that trap.

Dean looked away, exasperated and embarrassed.  “You wish,” he mumbled.  Cas wiggled his eyebrows at the audience as he started playing the next song, saving Dean the answer he didn’t have.

The crowd cheered wildly when they recognized the opening to the band’s original song, “Traffic.”  Dean quieted them briefly as he spoke over the intro, “So, this song’s gonna be on our new album, which we’re gonna start recording next week.  We can’t wait to get it out to you and start our national tour!  We love you guys!”  The mass of bodies resumed their raucous cheering as Cas ripped into the opening in earnest and Dean began singing what would likely be their first single.  Their competition was, for the moment, forgotten. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t know a Britney song, Cas,” Dean teased as they brushed their teeth later that night.  “I mean, everyone knows Britney.”  He spit into the sink. 

Cas shrugged.  He was humming a song through the foam in his mouth, although not the same as the one Becky was quietly playing in her bedroom, which Dean recognized as Ella Fitzgerald.  There was always music of all kinds playing at the Edlund-Rosen house.  It was one of the things he loved most about it.  He understood how Cas knew so much now – he was constantly immersed in it.  It had made Dean learn and appreciate music a lot more.  It felt safe, comforting, homey.  These people, this place, the music, the atmosphere – it was everything his home had never been.  He was so comfortable here that at times he thought he was looking into another world, with another him in it, and if he reached out to touch it the whole thing would shatter.  It was the reason why he was always a little on guard in the back of his mind.  He didn’t want to ruin it for that other him.  At least one version of him should be happy.  He rinsed and dried his mouth.

“So, what do you want for your prize?” Cas asked, then resumed humming even through rinsing his mouth. 

Dean was feeling cheeky.  Cas was always challenging him, putting him into positions that made him uncomfortable and curious.  He decided to turn the tables.  Dean sidled up to his friend and said, with a salacious wink, “Like I said on stage, suck it, Cas.”  He was kidding (probably, he thought) but wondered what Cas would do.

Cas hummed as he moved to the towel rack and dried his mouth, letting Dean think he hadn’t heard him.  He didn’t know how tempting the idea was.  Nor did he know that Cas suspected Dean might actually, secretly be on board with that idea.  He wouldn’t actually do that to Dean right now; it wasn’t fair.  Even after several months, Dean was still getting used to the idea that perhaps he didn’t swing the way he thought he was supposed to, though he was less opposed than he had been.  Plus, it would probably just confuse things between them.  So although he wouldn’t actually touch him the way Dean was insinuating, he would tease him mercilessly and challenge him a little more.  He dropped the towel, picked up his head, and stepped into Dean’s space until the men were millimeters apart.

“Whenever you’re ready, babe,” he purred, tilting his head as he stared into his eyes and purposely licked his lips.  Dean was frozen in place, color filling his face, eyes wide and pupils dilating.  Interesting, Cas thought.  He decided to see how far he could push Dean’s boundaries.  Never breaking eye contact nor making any body contact, Cas slid to his knees, making him level with the obvious bulge in Dean’s pants.  He held still and watched the emotions flicker across his face.  God, he shouldn’t be doing this to either one of them.

 _Shit_ , Dean thought as he watched Cas move.  He didn’t mean for Cas to take him seriously.  But so what if he did?  Would they… could they, without it being weird?  Of course it was going to be weird.  Dean still wrestled with the whole maybe being gay thing.  But Cas, with those blue eyes watching his every move and that voice that both comforted and challenged him and those hands that would probably feel so good touching him, that  _had_  felt so good touching him when they kissed… and that mouth….  He shouldn’t do this, shouldn’t let Cas do this.  Cas deserved someone better, someone who knew what they were doing, someone without a complex about his sexuality, but it was  _Cas_.  If it should be anyone, it should be Cas.  He was the only one Dean wanted.  He held Cas’ gaze but could barely breathe.  The bathroom suddenly felt small and hot.  He was about to speak when someone pounded on the door.

“Are you guys done in there?  God, how long does it take to brush your teeth?” Sam whined.

Still on his knees but the moment broken, Cas smirked mischievously at Dean and shuffled back a few inches so that his feet rested on the door, the shadows of them obvious through the crack under the door.  “Hold on, I’m just blowing your brother, give me, like, 30 seconds.  That should be all he needs,” Cas called back.  Dean, wide-eyed, leaned forward and shoved him playfully, mouthing “fuck you” at Cas’ smug expression.

“Dude, I did not need to know that!” Sam groused as Becky shouted from further away, “Castiel James!  We do not need to know your private business, and it doesn’t need to be happening in my bathroom!”

“I was kidding, you guys!” he called.  He looked at Dean and grinned sheepishly, and Dean bit his lip to keep from laughing.  Cas, being closer to the door, stood and dusted his knees off as he opened it.  He pretended to wipe his mouth.  “Hey Sam,” he said casually.  Dean just wiggled his eyebrows as they brushed by, trying to make the already-blushing Sam even more uncomfortable, as was his right as a big brother.  Sam rolled his eyes and stomped into the bathroom.  Dean followed Cas into Cas’ bedroom and closed the door behind him, where they laughed until their sides were sore.

“What’s most disturbing about the whole thing,” Cas said as they finally collapsed on the bed side-by-side, “is that no one thought it was a damn joke.”

Dean stopped and looked thoughtful.  “Yeah,” he finally said, “you’re right.  Um, weird.”

“Yeah.  Weird.”

Their eyes flitted to each other when the other wasn’t looking. 

“You ever done that?”

“Yeah, a few times.  You?”

“With a girl or two.  I mean, well, they did it to me.  I couldn’t stay focused on them, though.  Had to keep imagining other people, other things.  God, that’s embarrassing.  I don’t know why I just told you that.  Fuckin’ big mouth.  I don’t know when to shut up.”

“Dean.”  He turned his head to gaze into pools of blue reflecting the full moon shining through Cas’ window.  Pools of blue.  It was a stupid, romantic notion, but it’s true, Dean thought absently.   _It’s true because I feel like I’m drowning and I don’t wanna be rescued._

“Yeah?”

He smiled at Dean warmly, sadly.  “You don’t have to be embarrassed with me.  Never with me.”  He reached out a hand and locked a pinky with Dean’s.  Dean had this almost irrepressible urge to kiss his best friend then and there, but refrained. 

In the dark, Cas started humming the song he’d been humming earlier, in the bathroom.  Dean turned to him with a jolt. 

“Dude, are you humming ‘Oops I Did It Again’?” 

“Am I?” Cas said, though Dean could hear the smile in his voice.

“You filthy liar.  You said you didn’t know any Britney songs!”

“I didn’t want to admit to it.”

“So I didn’t really win?”

“Of course you did.  I conceded.”

“Hollow victory.”

“I’m sure you’ll find another way to challenge me.”

Dean smiled at the warmth in Cas’ voice.  He closed his eyes and fell asleep in Cas’ bed that night, still hanging onto his pinky and thinking of what he shouldn’t want but wanting it anyway.  Cas sighed and thought of the doozy of a therapy session he was going to have with Hannah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs referenced in this chapter:  
> Back in Black by AC/DC  
> Selling the Drama by Live  
> Caught in a Mosh by Anthrax  
> A Secret Place by Megadeth  
> One by Metallica  
> Firestarter by Prodigy  
> I’m Too Sexy by Right Said Fred  
> I Want Your Sex by George Michael  
> Baby One More Time by Britney Spears  
> Oops I Did It Again by Britney Spears


	9. Chapter 9

_January 2014_

Making and releasing an album had been one of the most mind-blowing experiences of Castiel’s life, and the tour was incredible.  To have the words and sounds he and his best friends had created out there in the world, and to be able to perform that music for people who really appreciated it, absorbed it, lived it for a little while, was euphoria akin to nirvana, he imagined.  And yet the passion he felt still seemed like it was only in second place.  He never thought anything would take priority over his music.  Well, the love of his family and friends, of course, but that felt on par with the music in some weird way, though if he had to choose of course he would choose his family and his bandmates.  All of that was semantics, though.  He knew which passion occupied first place in his mind.  That passion was Dean Winchester.  The damn son of a bastard (hey, he wasn’t going to insult the man’s mother) was everything Cas could ever imagine wanting in a person.  Well, except for the drinking.  And the wavering back and forth about his sexuality.  Working and living with him, though, except for those things, was a dream, and he constantly felt… aroused in his presence.

It was a delicate dance they did.  It had been more than a year since they last kissed and several months since Cas kneeled before Dean and almost did something they may or may not have regretted later.  They “dated” other people, “dating” usually being one meetup, two if the person was really something.  Cas dated both women and men, but Dean was still trying desperately to date women, though he took the occasional guy out for coffee (and whatever, Cas didn’t ask) when they were on tour, far from home.  Truthfully, though, any of their partners were doomed from the start.  They tried to pretend they were just friends to each other – friends who had kissed and told each other their deepest fears and flirted on and off stage and had affectionate pet names and touched each other whenever they could, but friends nonetheless.  Hannah had helped him sort out a few things, and he decided he wanted to keep things as they were, for now.  Primarily, he didn’t want to make things weird in the band, especially with the tour, and he didn’t want to lose his friend.  If he was forced to admit it, though, he was afraid things would go past lust, afraid of falling so hard for Dean that he’d overlook the drinking Dean occasionally indulged in.  He tried hard with Hannah to figure out if Dean’s drinking was a Cas problem or a Dean problem.  He still hadn’t decided.

This was the debate Cas waged within himself when the band was trying to get Cas to come with them to celebrate after their show in Miami, Florida.  It was Dean’s twenty-first birthday, and he wanted to commemorate the occasion as most 21-year-olds do – by drinking legally. 

“It’s my birthday, Cas,” Dean pouted, laying his head on Cas’ lap after the show.  “You don’t have to drink.”

“I know, I know,” Cas said.  He stroked his fingers thoughtlessly through Dean’s hair, damp with sweat, and gazed affectionately at his friend’s hopeful face.  I could write a song about that face, he thought absently.     

“Please, sweetheart?  It would suck without you.”  He heard teasing grumbles from his bandmates behind him.  “You guys know what I mean.”  Dean rolled his eyes and focused on Cas again.  He latched into Castiel’s t-shirt and flashed his best pleading eyes at him.  Cas gulped.  He hated the way the intimate moniker rolled off his tongue and the softness of those green eyes sometimes.  He huffed and puffed but finally agreed, though he warned them they needed to be on the bus by 3:00 am to get to the next city. 

Hours later, Castiel wished he hadn’t.  They all smelled like a brewery, and Dean was an especially affectionate drunk. It made it hard to resist him.  His bandmates had abandoned the taxi and run into their tour bus the minute they arrived, leaving Castiel to support Dean, who didn’t want to go inside right away. 

“Nice night, Cas,” he slurred.  “Let’s look at the stars.”

There were no stars to see in the middle of the city, but there were city lights just over the hill where they were parked, so they would have to do.  Castiel parked Dean onto the ground and ducked inside the bus to grab some water for him.  He sat on the asphalt next to Dean and Dean leaned heavily into Cas’ side, dropping his head on his shoulder.  Cas pushed the water onto him and made him take several sips.  Dean was quiet for a while, and Cas was starting to think of how he was going to drag his sorry ass into the bus when a warm hand landed on his thigh. 

“Thanks for comin’ tonight, Cas,” Dean said sleepily.  He drained the rest of the water.

“Of course,” he answered as he hugged him with the arm draped across his shoulders.

Dean began rubbing his hand up and down Cas’ thigh.  Cas said nothing at first, assuming he’d stop after a minute or maybe fall asleep, but it continued, Dean’s hand getting higher each time.  He was gentle and uninhibited, and it scared Cas how much he didn’t want this to stop.

“Dean.”

“Hmm…?”

“I’m not a cat.  Stop stroking me.”

Cas could feel Dean’s mouth turn up, but he didn’t stop. 

“Then why are you so purrrr-fect?” Dean asked, then giggled at his own joke.  Cas rolled his eyes but giggled too.

“Okay, I think someone needs to go to bed.”  He moved slowly out of Dean’s space so that he wouldn’t fall over, then pulled him up by his hands.  Dean landed hard into his chest and rested his forehead on Cas’.  Bright green eyes stared into his.  They reminded him of the marbles he used to play with at his grandmother’s house.  The green ones had always been his favorites, damn it.  He wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist to support him and hitched the other into one of his belt loops, trying to keep Dean on his feet.  He tugged at the loop to get him to start walking, but Dean wouldn’t stop staring.

“You didn’t fall asleep with your eyes open, did you?  Get walking.”

Dean searched his face before settling on his eyes again, and brought a hand up to his cheek.  “You really are perfect, Cas.  Too good for me,” he murmured breathily.

Cas swallowed and moved the hand supporting his back onto Dean’s face, backing it up so he could see his entire face easily.  “Hey.  Shut up.  I’m not too good for you.  You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“I know I’m a dick, Cas,” he mumbled, then began to ramble.  “I know I drink and I know you don’t like that.  I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.  And I like guys, I know I do, but my dad… he’d kill me and he and Sammy are my only family… but that’s not true because you’re my family, you and the band and Carver and Becky and even your douchey brother, and I just don’t know why that’s not enough for me.  I’m an asshole, Cas, I’m sorry.  I’m just like my fuckin’ father.”  The tears started falling, and Cas pulled him close, rubbing his back and whispering soothing sounds and reassurances into his ear while Dean sobbed. 

When he’d slowed down a bit, Cas took his hand and led him to the bus, then to his bunk.  He tucked a sheet around him and kissed him on the forehead, then once on each tear-stained cheek.  He whispered good night and was about to leave when Dean darted a hand out and grabbed his wrist.  “Stay,” he pleaded.

“It’s a pretty small bunk, babe.”  He’d never quite gotten out of the habit of calling him that, not since the night of the party.  He played it off as a joke when others were around.  Dean seemed to like it.

“Please, sweetheart?”  Oh God, and there was Dean’s nickname for him again.  It made him weak.

He sighed, resigned to his fate.  “Okay, but don’t puke on me.  And go to the bathroom first, I don’t want you crawling over me when you have to piss,” Cas said in an attempt to sound annoyed.  Dean did as he was told, chugging the second water bottle Cas handed him as he made his way to the tiny bathroom on the bus.  Cas waited for him to see if he’d changed his mind after being away for a couple of minutes.  Dean, now stripped down to boxers, climbed back into bed and tugged at Cas’ shirt to get him to follow.  Cas batted at his hand. 

“Hang on, grabby,” he grumbled as he removed his shirt and pants (it was hot in Miami and the A/C was broken) and lowered himself into the tiny bunk.  Cas could tell Dean had swished around some mouthwash as he settled in, facing Dean.  He was impressed Dean had the presence of mind to do so.  Cas gathered the sheet around them again and was going to close his eyes but noticed Dean was watching him.  Cas gave him a small smile.  “What?” 

Dean closed the mere inches between them and kissed his best friend slowly, sloppily.  Cas barely had time to process whether he should be allowing this to happen when Dean’s minty tongue filled his mouth and his senses.  He panicked even as his tongue joined the dance.   _Should I stop?  Do I want to stop?_   (Well, that he knew the answer to, at least.)   _Would Dean want this if he wasn’t drunk?_   Dean pressed his body into Cas’ and roamed his body with his wide hands.   _Fuck. So much skin._   He thought about how much he hated being so damn ethical as he gently pried Dean off him.  Dean pouted, much like he had hours before when he tried (and succeeded) to convince Cas to go out with them. 

“Dean, you’re intoxicated…” Cas said reluctantly, a small pout of his own forming before he could squirrel it away.  Dean caught it.

“I’m only a little,” he interrupted.  “I know what I’m doing.  And you want it too.”

Cas pretended his heart didn’t jump and barreled on.  “…and our bandmates are very close to us.”

“And they’re asleep.”

“Dean…”

“It’s my birthday.”

“Not anymore, technically.”

“It’s my birthday until we go to sleep.  Cas.  Please?  I need you.”  And there were those soft eyes again, damn it all to hell.  Dean thumbed at Cas’ stubble around his mouth before pulling him into another heated kiss. 

 _Fuck it_ , Cas thought as he gave himself over to the tide.

Cas awoke to the sound of Charlie calling his name.  He groaned softly to himself as he remembered he’d wanted to set an alarm and get out of Dean’s bunk before anyone woke up.  Too late now.  He waited until he could hear her poking her head into the bathroom and calling his name before he rolled out of bed and came up behind her, hoping she didn’t see him sneak out of Dean’s bunk out of the corner of her eye.  She turned quickly when he said her name.

“Hey!  Where were you?”

“My bunk?”

“Yeah, no.  I looked there.”

He shuffled his feet and rubbed his face.  He didn’t have a good answer for her.  She eyed him critically before breaking out into a gleeful, surprised face.  “Oh, my God.”

“Charlie…”

“Oh my God!”

“Quiet the fuck down!” he whispered, wide-eyed, as he dragged her toward the front of the bus.  He sat on the couch and pulled her with him, looking at her seriously.  She still had a look of delight on her face.

“Oh, you guys!  You and Dean!” she squealed.

“Oh nothing, Charlie.  It was nothing.  His ass was so drunk he thought I was a damn teddy bear.  Don’t read into it.”

“Brown chicken brown cow!”

“No!  It wasn’t that!”

“So what was it?”

“Nothing.”

“I call bullshit.”

“Call what you want.”

They stared at each other, each daring the other to blink, before Cas finally turned away.  “Fuck,” he mumbled behind his hand.

“I knew it!”

“It was just making out, okay?  Meaningless.  I didn’t let it get any further.  Do  _not_  ask him about it.  He probably won’t even remember, alright?”  They made out only a few minutes before Castiel stopped it by speaking to Dean softly and stroking his hair.  Dean nuzzled his neck and fell asleep within a couple of minutes, hand resting on Castiel’s heart.  Charlie didn’t need to know that.

Charlie regarded him softly.  “I doubt it was meaningless,” she finally said.

“Stop.  He was just upset, kind of.  A little mopey.  I was a warm body.”

“I don’t think that’s true, Castiel.”

Cas squirmed.  “Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter.  I can’t get involved with him.”

“Why the hell not?  You didn’t stop things before they started, so clearly…”

“I should’ve stopped things before they started, Char.  I was the clearheaded one.”

“But you didn’t.  Why not?  Did you really think he didn’t want it?”

“No… I don’t know!  I just, he’s never  _not_  wanted to, but…”

Charlie grabbed his arm.  “Wait, there have been other times?”

Cas’ face twisted into a horrified stare before he sighed.  “Just a couple.  Literally, two.  And he’d been drinking for one of them, and the other was his first.  I was just showing him.”

“Yeah, sure thing.”

“I was!  Damn it, I’m an idiot.  I was so fucking selfish, thinking with my dick and not my head.  And now you know, and you weren’t supposed to.  He trusted me.  Shit, you have to keep this to yourself, okay?”  He was on the verge of hyperventilating.

Charlie leaned forward and pulled him into a hug, resting his head on her shoulder.  “Of course I will.  Hey,” she cooed, “it’s gonna be okay.  Just talk to him.  That’s what we do, okay?”  He nodded.  “And hey, you could be friends with benefits…”

“Charlie,” he grumbled in warning, “he’s in the band.  And he drinks.  And he’s not comfortable with his sexuality yet, at least not sober.  It all equals bad idea.”

“Dean and I have talked, Cas.  A lot.  I think he’s coming to terms with it, I really do.  His dad filled his head with a lot of shit.”

“That doesn’t mean us having a relationship is a good idea.”

“We won’t care if you guys are in a relationship.  And as for the drinking, it’s not like he does it all the time, Cas.  It’s once in a while, probably less than a lot of people our age.  He’s responsible.”  Cas grunted, not wanting to let her know his secret fears about how much it really was and whether he was really in control of it or not.  “And hey, I didn’t say anything about a relationship, you did.  I said friends with benefits.”

“Charlie…”

“Cas, you guys are always touching, you have little names for each other, you hang out all the time, I mean come on!  It’s like you’re dating anyway!”

Cas sat quietly and shook his head but said nothing.  Charlie squeezed his knee.  Before she could say anything else, they heard stirring from the bunk area, then vomiting.

“Well, that’s one of the guys,” Charlie announced as she released Cas.  “Idiots didn’t drink enough water.  I’m gonna find them some Tylenol.”  Charlie kissed his temple before walking through the curtain separating the living from the sleeping area.  “Which one of you idiots is in the bathroom?” she shouted, not caring that she was making anyone’s headache worse.

Cas was watching the world pass by and strumming on his guitar when Dean plunked himself behind him a few minutes later.  He leaned forward and wrapped an arm around Cas’ abdomen, a fairly common thing for him to do.  Platonically, of course.

 “Sorry if I made things weird,” he spoke into Cas’ shoulder blade.

Cas smiled despite his somber, anxious mood.  “How much do you remember?”

Dean turned his head so that the side of his face now rested on Cas’ shoulder blade, covered by a thin, soft purple t-shirt that looked amazing on him, in Dean’s opinion.  “Pretty much everything, believe it or not.  We came back, we sat outside, I spilled my guts, I made you come to bed with me.  We made out.  That’s all I remember.”  Cas nodded.  “Did, uh, we do anything else?”

“You don’t remember the mind-blowing sex?” Cas smiled, falling into their usual banter.

Dean smiled, understanding full well there was nothing of the kind since Cas was teasing him.  “I wish I did.  Couldn’t have been too mind-blowing if I don’t remember it, though.  You’re gonna have to do better next time.”

“I guess I will.  Maybe if you stay awake next time I’ll have a chance.” 

Dean laughed against his back, then pulled back and turned Cas around to face him.  “Um, we okay?”

“Yeah, we’re okay,” Cas said, warmth in his eyes.  Dean slid his hand slowly down Cas’ arm, feeling the muscle ripple under his skin, and grasped his hand.  He squeezed it shyly.

“It was… kind of fun, huh?”  Dean gave him a little smile, not quite meeting his eyes.

Cas’ face grew hot as he returned the smile while looking at their hands.  “Yeah, Dean, it was kinda fun.”

Dean’s smile dropped just a little and he pressed his lips together nervously.  “Um, I was thinking, um…”

“You asshole!  Gimme that!” Ash came running into the living area as Dean and Cas quickly separated, trying to make themselves casual.  Ash wasn’t paying them any attention.  Benny was right behind him.  “Gimme that!” he yelled as Ash pulled out a silver object – his phone.  He started pressing buttons. 

“That’s my ass!  Do NOT send that to anyone!”

“You bared your ass, I cannot be held responsible for what happens after you choose to do something like that!”

“Prick!  Delete that picture!” 

Ash landed on top of the two men seated on the couch, and Benny followed right behind him. 

“Hey!  I will kill you assholes if you break my guitar!”  Cas yelled. 

Apparently, the heartfelt moment was over.

_September 2014_

 “We’re here talking with Mixtape for My Teenage Crush, a band who’s pretty well-known in the NYC area and now, of course, the U.S.  Their final stateside show is tonight before they hit Europe.  Welcome home, guys.”

“Thanks, Jesse!”

Introductions were made and the band plunged into their radio interview with Castiel’s DJ friend, Jesse Cuevas, who hosted a morning show on one of the local alt rock stations. 

“Now you guys had a huge hit with ‘Traffic.’  Castiel, you wrote that one.  Tell us about the inspiration for the song.”

 “It’s really about the noise in our heads,” Cas explained.  “As human beings, we can get into a space where we keep running into bad thinking patterns and negative situations others place there for us, or even ones we place there ourselves.  It can lead to a lot of traffic in the brain.  We’re striving to have a pleasant, easy drive with the occasional stoplight, but sometimes we end up in the thick of the traffic in our brains and it can lock us up.”

“Well said, man, well said.  Dean, you’re the lead on this song.  Can you relate to it even though Castiel wrote it?”

“Oh yeah, definitely.  I’ve been guilty of it for sure.  We all are.  And, you know, Castiel told me once that to write a song, it’s best if you’ve either lived it yourself or can really put yourself in someone else’s shoes, and I think that goes with singing a song, too.  You have to be able to feel whatever the songwriter was feeling.”

“Yeah, absolutely, man.  So you guys have been super busy, touring for several months now as an opening act for some pretty incredible headliners, but you’re making headlines of your own – not just with your music, but with your high-energy shows and obvious talent.  I remember one show I caught in Raleigh when I was down that way where Castiel was riding on Benny’s shoulders while he was drumming.  And that kind of stuff is typical for you guys; you’re all over YouTube.  Tell me what keeps the energy so high for you.”

“Well, I think, in all honesty, it’s because we’re really tight as a band,” Benny explained.  “We love doing this; it’s a mutually shared passion.  We just go out there and we have a blast.  We know that some of these people are seeing us for the first time, and we want to make it something they’ll never forget.”

“It helps that we’re young, too,” Ash blurts, and everyone laughs.

“I think it’s also because we’re really great friends offstage, too,” Charlie chimes.  “There’s a lot of trust and confidence in each other.  We know each other so well that if we want to do something crazy, it’s really easy to communicate that.  We rarely practice ahead of time any of the things you see on stage; it’s spontaneous.”

“Like when you turned Cas and I into ice cream sundaes on stage?” Dean asked.

“Yes, like that,” she laughed along with the rest of the band and Jesse. “And when one of us does a song cover, it’s usually a surprise to the rest of us.  Thankfully, we work really hard to know a lot of stuff, and we know each other so well that no one would do something to sabotage anyone.  We really love each other.”

“Yes, that’s really evident, and your crushes really love you….”

Confusion echoed around the room.

“What do you mean, crushes?” Charlie asked.

“Crushes are what your fans call themselves.  You’re gaining quite a following.”

“That’s adorable!” Charlie squealed.  Pleased murmurs spread throughout the band members.

“So your crushes can really tell you all love each other.  What’s also causing headlines, though, is the massively debated speculation about how platonic that love really is.  Castiel, in particular, has been targeted as…”

“The root of all evil?” Ash interjected to peals of laughter.

Jesse chuckled and continued, “No, I think Castiel is pretty widely adored.  I think there’s more the rumor that he’s been with each of you, sparked by his blatant sexualized behavior on stage with all of you.”

“I don’t like to leave anyone out,” Cas rumbled into the microphone, to more laughter.

“True, true.  So can you address that rumor?”

“Well, I can say it’s none of anyone’s business.  However, to quell the curiosity and keep my friends’ stellar reputations squeaky clean, I will confirm that I have yet to eat the forbidden fruit.  My bandmates have remained unsullied by my naughty bits.”  In a low, sensuous baritone he added, “But that doesn’t mean I won’t keep trying.” Gut-searing laughter bubbled up from everyone in the room, band and radio staff alike.

“See, this is why your fans love you guys,” Jesse smiled.  “Now, let’s talk about the new song already becoming another hit for you guys, ‘The Ties that Bind (and Strangle)’….”

The rest of the interview went smoothly, and they took questions from callers.  When it was over, they took some photos with the DJs and played a few songs for an exclusive in-studio concert won by some of the station’s listeners.  Jesse invited them to lunch afterward, and they followed him to a quiet hole-in-the-wall situated in his neighborhood which he said served some amazing guacamole.  He approached the man already sitting at the large round table and pressed a light kiss on his lips, then turned to introduce his husband Cesar to the group. 

“Husband?” Dean asked without thinking.

“Got married in Massachusetts as soon as it became legal there,” Jesse shrugged.  They sat and ordered drinks and appetizers.  Dean tried not to make it obvious, but he watched Jesse and Cesar curiously.  He’d never met two guys who were married.  They didn’t seem any different than any other married couple, really.  They looked at each other affectionately and they spoke in some secret couple language with their facial expressions and they bickered over things they’d probably bickered over for years.  It was… nice.  He thought about all the times their bandmates and their families called him and Cas an old married couple, and he chewed on his lip thoughtfully.

As Cesar grew animated, telling a story about a local musician he’d interviewed for a local monthly music rag, he felt a hand flick his leg.  Dean turned to Cas.  He scrunched up his face in concern.  Dean pursed his lips and shook his head.  When their appetizers came, Dean let go of his thoughts and relaxed.  Cesar was really funny, and Jesse was his ever-tolerant, ever-patient partner who looked at him with a mixture of fondness and exasperation.  It was a look Dean had seen on his best friend’s face often.  The familiar hum he often felt in Cas’ presence – or hell, even when he was reminded of Cas – swirled in his chest.  He tried to refocus and listened intently to Cesar’s latest story until Ash started snickering across from him.  “Dude,” he said as he jutted his chin toward Dean’s plate of potato skins, which were… gone. 

He found seven of the starchy skins lined up neatly on Cas’ plate, and the eighth in Cas’ hand, loaded with guac.  Dean stared at him with indignation.  Cas slowly brought the appetizer to his mouth and took a deliberate, exaggerated bite.  “What?” he said in mock innocence around the mouthful of food.  Dean just shook his head and kept his eyes locked with Cas’ before slowly bringing his hand down and crushing the two corn-shelled tacos on Cas’ plate. 

“Now you have taco salad,” Dean rumbled.

“Asshole,” Cas rumbled in return.

They continued to stare at each other as Cas opened his cloth napkin and placed the potato skins inside it, then folded the corners toward each other to close it.  He slid out of his seat.

“I’m sure the pigeons of New York would appreciate these more than you,” Cas growled over his shoulder as he started toward the door.  The rest of the table stared at the scene unfolding before them, waiting to see what would happen next, but Dean knew.  This was a challenge.  He stood and waited to see if Cas would turn around and come back, knowing full well he likely wouldn’t.  Cas walked out the door without a single glance back.  Dean smiled to himself and ran out of the restaurant.  The two quickly faded from sight.

“How long have they been together?” Cesar asked the bandmates.  They groaned and hunkered down to tell Cesar and Jesse a long story.

Cas sprinted hard down the quiet sidewalk, nearly deserted thanks to the cooler than average temperatures and the families hunkered indoors, getting used to the new school schedule.  Dean was hot on his heels.  When he felt like he was losing steam, he turned into a small, deserted alleyway.  He closed his eyes, panting and leaning on the wall and trying not to pass out.  Hands grabbed his shoulders and jostled him as the other body skidded to a stop.  Their breaths commingled as Dean rested his head on Cas’. 

“Asshole,” Dean rasped breathlessly, and Cas huffed a small laugh. 

Dean opened his eyes and gazed at Cas, whose eyes were still closed.  He was breathing heavily still, though his breaths had slowed a little.  His cheeks were flushed with chill and exertion; his dark mop curled in tiny waves around his face.  He suddenly thought of  _Under the Wave off Kanagawa._  Gabe was studying art, and he had a book of famous Japanese art pieces.  Dean and Cas had flipped through it one night, and that one stuck with him for some reason.  He’d even considered getting it tattooed on his body.  Now he knew why.  It was wild and blue and larger than life, and the edges of the waves broke in tiny, spiky tendrils.  It was Cas personified.  Dean felt overwhelmed with something that felt important and frightening in its intensity.  He slid his face against Cas’ until their mouths aligned, and he licked his dry, trembling lips before closing the minute space between them.  Tingles surged through his core as Cas yielded under him. 

Cas opened his eyes as Dean’s face set his skin on fire and perfect lips met his.  This felt very, very good, and very, very dangerous.  In mere seconds, Cas’ mind whirled with thoughts of  _He’s your bandmate, this isn’t a good idea_  and  _Holy shit he hasn’t even been drinking_  and  _Repressed sexuality?_  and  _We’re in public_  and  _He started it_  and  _It’s just lust_  and  _So what’s wrong with a little lust?_  and then he couldn’t think anymore.  He surrendered to the heat and the desire.   _Just for a minute.  I can have this for just a minute._   

A minute turned into several, and lips turned into lips and hands and chests pressing into each other.  The cool air was suddenly very, very hot.  The brick wall bit into Castiel’s head, and Dean’s knuckles scraped into the same wall as he moved his hands behind to pull Cas’ head closer to his, and neither noticed the discomfort.  It was hot, wet, and dirty, and neither of them cared about anything but  _want_  and  _heat_  and  _you_.

The sound of a barking dog nearby startled them into the present, and they broke apart quickly as they saw a person round the corner. 

“Sorry, sorry!” a petite blonde called.  “Nikita, come!”  The dog came running, but not before snatching one of the potato skins that had dropped to the ground.  After she grabbed the dog’s leash and rushed out of sight, the two men sighed.

“Sorry about your appetizer,” Cas said.

“Hey, you even kind of look sincere about it,” Dean joked as he nudged Cas’ chin.  Cas smiled.  They both shuffled their feet, not quite knowing what to do next.

“So, we should probably get back,” Cas finally said.

“Yeah.”

They walked back to the restaurant, hands brushing each other as they walked, and they pretended they were flush from running.

Their concert at MSG – the last of the U.S. tour – was one of their loudest, most energetic to date.  Their families (including Bobby and Jody) and many of their friends came, and after the show and the reunions and the fan meet and greets and the late, late dinner and the see you tomorrows, they were ecstatically exhausted.

“Fuck, I’ve never been so happy to be in my bed,” Cas mumbled into his pillow. 

“I’ve never been so happy to be in your bed, either,” Dean’s muffled voice said next to him, then whined.  “This pillow doesn’t smell like you anymore.”

“You’re smelling my pillow?”

“My nose is face down in it, so yeah.”

“Do you make a habit of smelling my pillow to see if my scent is on it?”

No answer.

“Dean?”

“I’m sleeping.”

“You’re avoiding my question.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe what?”

No answer.

“You are a gigantic pain in my ass, Winchester.”

“Did I not lube you up enough?”

Cas could hear the smirk in Dean’s voice.  He turned his head to the side to speak clearly to Dean.  “Oh honey, you wanna go there?  ‘Cause you’d be the bottom, not me.”

Dean, hearing Cas’ clear voice, turned his head to face him.  “I would not.”

“You totally would.”

Dean thought for a moment.  “We could switch.”

“Hmm.  That’s acceptable.”

They both closed their eyes, enjoying the heat radiating off the other.  A few minutes passed, the gentle rotation of the fan the only sound in the room.

Eyes still closed, Cas asked wryly, “Dean, do you realize we just casually discussed having sex with each other?”

Dean peeked at Cas and was grateful his friend’s eyes were still closed so he wouldn’t see the blush he knew had crept into his face.  “Yeah,” he replied, and closed his eyes again. 

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

A few more minutes ticked by, the rustling of the trees as the wind picked up adding to the whooshing of the fan.  The air felt too thick.  Dean felt the need to say something, anything, that would cut through it and allow him to breathe, that would move them in  _some_  direction.

“Cas.”

“Hmm.”

“Take off my shoes for me.  My feet hurt and I’m tired.”

“Do I look like your damn nurse?”

“You’d look cute in a little white outfit.”

“For fuck’s sake.  I’m too tired for your fantasies.  Take off your own shoes.”

“They’re tied too tight,” he whined.

With an eye roll, Cas scooted to the end of the bed and untied his shoes, then roughly pulled them off and collapsed back onto his pillow facing Dean, who gazed at Cas.  He smiled a sleepy, smug smile.  “Thanks, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cas responded without malice.  He blinked tired blue eyes at his friend.

Dean kept his eyes locked with Cas and reached out with a finger to caress the three days of stubble on Cas’ face.  “Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“The alley.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“We keep doing that.”

“We do.”

He took a deep breath.  Cas waited.

“And then we don’t.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Is it… shit, I don’t even know how to talk about this.”

Cas placed a warm hand on Dean’s back.  “Let’s talk later when we’ve had some rest, okay?”  Dean nodded.  Cas scooted over and planted a sweet kiss on Dean’s forehead, which Dean returned on Cas’ mouth.   His sweet kiss turned heated quickly, and they wound their limbs together as they deepened their kisses. 

“Damn it, Dean.  Later,” Cas said breathlessly after a couple of minutes.

Dean smiled naughtily.  “Sorry.” 

Cas eyed him skeptically.  “Yeah.  I bet.”

Later brought a cool, bright day, the perfect accompaniment to the barbecue Becky and Carver had planned for the band and their families and friends.  When Dean woke, he was alone, but he figured Cas was probably helping his parents.  Thinking that once he got down there he wouldn’t get back in for some time, he made himself shower and shave before heading downstairs.  He paused when he heard Gabriel’s voice in the kitchen.  He wasn’t sure he was ready for his special brand of enthusiasm and snark just yet.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in!” Dean heard Gabe exclaim to someone. “My baby brother!  Where’s your boyfriend Deano?”

“We are not dating, Gabe,” Cas said.  From where he was standing, he could see Cas jostle his brother from behind.  Cas held a large helium tank in his hands.  Dean was glad he wasn’t in the room just then, because he wasn’t sure he could trust himself to keep his eyes averted from Cas’ tight jeans and the muscles flexing under the snug, three-quarter sleeve baseball-style Foo Fighters t-shirt.  He admired him from afar.

“Fuck buddies, whatever… ow, fuck Cas, it was a joke!” Gabriel grabbed at his calf, where his brother had kicked him with the toe of his boot. 

“Stop being an asshole.  We get plenty of that insinuation on the road, in the media, et cetera.”

“Maybe it’s because the insinuation is true.  We all know, Cassie.”

Castiel placed the tank on the floor and rested an elbow on top of it.  “You all know what?  There’s nothing to know.”

Gabriel turned from the fruit platter he was assembling and faced his brother.  “That you got a little thing for each other!  It’s not a big fuckin’ deal.  What’s your problem?  You ashamed or something?” 

 He leaned in close to his brother’s face, his jaw set.  “Fuck you, Gabe.  I would never be ashamed of Dean if I was lucky enough to have him.  Which I’m not, so… just fuckin’ drop it.”  He picked up the tank and stormed through the French doors that led to the deck, slamming them behind him.  Gabe sighed heavily.

Dean knew he shouldn’t have been listening.  It was a conversation they thought they were having in private.  But he couldn’t stop himself, and now he had information he didn’t know how to process.  He backed away from the kitchen and fled to the studio.

Cas had asked him, years ago, if he had a special place to go just to think.  He didn’t at the time, but since then the studio had become that place for him.  There was silence here, but there was also creativity, hard work, and perseverance in these walls.  He picked up his favorite acoustic, a Martin that Cas’ parents bought him last Christmas, and began plucking at the strings.  The methodical repetition of the notes under his calloused fingers brought him comfort and allowed him to clear his head.  Three years.  Three years he and Cas had known each other now.  He was the best musician Dean had ever met or would ever meet, no matter how many famous people there were along the way.  He was a great son, a great brother, a great bandmate.  Most importantly, though, he was the best friend Dean had ever had, a person he could be himself with, a person who challenged him, a person who accepted him even with all his faults, a person who gave and gave to him without expectation.  And Cas thought  _he’d_  be the lucky one if something developed between them?   

“Cas told me you might be here,” Sam said as he sat next to Dean.  He’d never heard his brother enter.  “Must be weird, huh?  Being on the road so long, and now being home?  Kinda different worlds.”

“Yep, that they are.”  He thought about how this place, here with the Edlund-Rosens, really had become home to him and to Sam.  “How are you doing, man?  How’s college life?”

Sam shrugged.  “It’s just starting, really, but it’s a lot of work.  I like it, though.” 

“Knew you would, you giant nerd.”  Although he teased his brother, he was so proud of him.  Sam’s graduation from high school had been in June, and the entire band insisted on coming home for it, despite Dean’s protestations that they didn’t have to.  He was grateful they did, and it only made him love them more.  (He’d been very grateful to have Cas next to him holding his hand on that turbulent red-eye they’d needed to take after their Albuquerque show in order to get to his ceremony on time.) 

“Yeah.  How are you, Dean?”

“Fine.”

“Uh huh.  That’s why you’re hiding?”

“I’m not hiding.”

“Yes you are.  Cas said this is where you come to hide.”

“He said that?”

Sam lowered his voice to imitate Castiel.  “He said, ‘Dean might be in the studio.  He often enjoys spending some time alone to gather his energy before a large gathering or performance, particularly if we have had a busy schedule.  He seems to prefer the isolation of the studio.’” 

Dean snickered.  He was impressed.  The man really did know him well.

“Dean,” Sam continued, “is everything okay with you guys?”

Dean scowled.  “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”

“Just wondering.  I mean, you seem out of sorts, that’s all.”

“What’s that got to do with Cas?”

“You get in a bad mood when you guys fight.”

“I do not.”  Sam shot him a skeptical glare.  “Yeah, okay, maybe I do, but it’s not that.  I’m just thinking.  And, you know, gathering my energy or whatever Cas said.”

“So no ‘lover’s quarrel’ or whatever?”

“Lover’s quarrel?  Is this the 1800s?  What the hell, Sam?”

“Boyfriends fight.  I was just asking, figured if you wanted to talk about it…”

“Boyfriends?  Where’d you hear that?”

“Nobody.  I just assumed.”

Dean’s tone softened.  “How?  How did you assume that?”

“Just… the way you guys are together, that’s all.”

Dean paused, then breathed in carefully.  He closed his eyes.  “How long have you thought that?”

Sam’s voice sounded hesitant.  “A long time.  Years?  At least a year or two.”

“And… that’s not weird to you?”

“Why would it be?”

Dean opened his eyes and looked at Sam incredulously.  “Me.  Fucking a guy.  That’s not weird to you.”

“Well it’s not like I think about  _that_ ,” Sam said with a twisted, uncomfortable look on his face.  “Who wants to think of their brother having sex with  _anybody_?  But you and Cas together, it’s not weird.  You’re happy with him.”

“Well, that hasn’t… it’s not like that.  We’re not together,” Dean muttered, almost inaudibly. 

“Huh.  That’s too bad.  Guess I should’ve figured you wouldn’t let it happen.”

Dean snapped his head up.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Dad.”

Dean sighed.  That one word carried so much weight, all of it heavy and cumbersome.

“Listen, I don’t have a problem with it, Dean, if that’s what you’re worried about.  Nobody who loves you and wants the best for you has a problem with it.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“It’s weird,” Dean started in a shaky voice.  “You think your life’s gonna go one way, you’re gonna be this person, you  _have_  to be this person, and it doesn’t turn out that way, but you keep hanging on to what it was supposed to be.” 

“You have the control here, Dean.  It’s your life, not his.  I mean, hell,” Sam’s tone lightened as he gently punched Dean’s leg, “you already rebelled with the music thing and the whole us-not-living-with-him thing, might as well keep going.”  Dean looked up at Sam’s toothy grin.  “Fly your rainbow flag.”

“Fuck you,” Dean said without heat as he shoved his brother playfully. 

Party preparations were in full swing when Dean emerged from the studio.  They were celebrating the band coming home, but Gabe and Cas had also let the guests know that this would be a 25th wedding anniversary party for Becky and Carver.  Dean found Castiel in his bedroom with Charlie, putting the finishing touches on a poster board of photos of the couple.  Clothing was strewn across his bed, their costumes for a special presentation they were doing later.  Their quiet conversation stopped when Dean stepped in.  Charlie excused herself with several flimsy excuses, finally relenting and saying she was just leaving them alone.

“Sam was looking for you.  Doing okay?” Cas asked when they were alone.

“Yeah, I’m fine.  You?”

“Peachy,” he deadpanned, which made Dean laugh.  Cas smiled warmly in response.

Dean spoke hesitantly.  “Sam thought we had a ‘lover’s quarrel.’”

“Who even uses that term anymore?” Cas asked.

“Right?” Dean agreed. 

“Why did he think that?”

“I was moody, I guess.  Just thinking.”

“Ah.  Well, if it makes you feel any better, Gabe thinks we’re dating, or at least infatuated with each other.”

“Okay, so now I think I know where Sam gets it.  Who says ‘infatuated’ anymore, old man?”

“It’s a grownup word.  You should try one sometime,” Cas teased, his eyes sparkling.

“Oh, fuck you, you  _sanctimonious_  bastard,” Dean grinned.

Castiel cocked his head to the side and squinted at him.  “Excellent start.  You know, Mr. Winchester, you continue to propose sexual intercourse to me through the use of vulgar vernacular, yet you have not fulfilled such offer.  I am beginning to doubt your sincerity and, perhaps, your virility.”

Dean lunged forward without warning and straddled Cas’ hips as he tickled the man’s sides, which he knew was especially torturous.  “I assure you,” he spoke through his own giggles and Cas’ peals of laughter and breathless pleas to stop, “that my intentions… toward you… are completely sincere and unwholesome… and I am confident that my virility… would not be in question… should you ever endeavor… to disrobe me… and make that discovery for yourself.” His own laughter and Cas’ squirming movement between Dean’s legs got the best of him, and he collapsed on top of his best friend.  Cas lay half on the dark wood floor and half on the area rug, which had folded up beneath him.  He tilted his body up to dig the rug out from under him, pressing him harder into Dean’s body.  Dean wasn’t sure it wasn’t on purpose.  He looked at Cas’ shining eyes and words poured out before he could stop them.

“God, I’m lucky to have you,” Dean blurted, then bit his upper lip.

A corner of Cas’ mouth ticked up.  “Why Dean, that was uncharacteristically sappy of you,” he observed.  He fingered the worn collar of Dean’s Jimmy Buffet t-shirt, fingers just brushing his collarbone, before looking back at the face that sometimes made its way into his dreams at night. 

“Don’t be an asshole,” he blushed as he brushed a lock of hair off Cas’ ear.

“Ah, that’s better.  I’m more familiar with that sentiment.”

Dean dragged his eyes away from the curve of Cas’ ear nestled in the dark waves of his longish hair (his ear reminded him of the boat in that  _Wave off Kanagawa_  painting – no, woodblock print, Gabriel always reminded him) and found his favorite ocean staring back at him, the one he’d willingly float in forever, looking warmer than any real ocean he’d ever been in. 

“Cas,” he whispered.  Castiel licked his lips nervously in response, which was all the invitation Dean needed.  He plunged into Castiel’s mouth, and Cas, after a startled intake of breath, responded in kind, pulling him close with an arm behind his neck.  One kiss turned into too many to count.  Hands roamed all over each other, stopping to explore when something was particularly pleasurable to the other or they just got too absorbed and forgot to move.  Occasional breaks in liplock were spent with one man quietly moaning while the other replaced his hands with his mouth, exploring, discovering, feeding the fire between them. 

Dean felt a coil of heat low in his body, unfamiliar in its intensity, and through the pleasure-induced haze he didn’t realize how soon the coil would snap.  He clung to Cas, shuddering, feeling tingling in his scalp and the solid pressure between them building until it broke.  Dean pressed a silent scream into Cas’ chest as his hips bucked forward uncontrollably and a wet warmth soaked his skin inside his boxer briefs. As the intensity ebbed, he felt one of Cas’ arms wrapped around his waist and a hand in his hair, his fingers combing through.  His low rumble, like the Impala’s engine, purred into his ear –  _shh_  and  _you’re okay, babe_  and  _it’s just me, it’s just me_  – and Dean didn’t have any idea why he’d be trying to reassure him until he realized he’d just had an orgasm with a guy and not just any guy but his best friend, and he was crying and who did that?  But he didn’t have any motivation to be embarrassed right then, because he was with Cas and he felt like he was spinning in a vortex of all that was good, like when he was a kid and he spun himself in circles with his arms out wide until he fell, then he lay on the floor and giggled while the room turned around him.   Soon, though, the spinning stopped, and just like when he was a kid, he felt a little sick.

“Cas,” he whispered (which was what started this whole thing, he thought).

“Hmm.”

“I’m… I’m sorry.”  He pressed the side of his face into Castiel’s and felt the dampness on his cheek – whether it was from him or Cas, he wasn’t sure.  Dean felt the frown on his cheek, the worry against his temple. 

“Why are you sorry?”

“’Cause we didn’t talk, and I didn’t ask, and I didn’t even, you know, do my part for you, and…”

“Don’t,” Cas scolded mildly.  “If it wasn’t okay with me, I would’ve said something, okay?  You didn’t hear me complaining.”  He smiled against Dean’s cheek and turned to plant a light peck on his newly-shaved skin as he resumed stroking his hair.   “And you did plenty, don’t you worry.” 

Dean felt brave enough to move his head so he could look at Cas properly.  Cas’ eyes were shiny.  “Yeah?  Was it okay?” he asked through his nerves.

Cas knew what Dean was trying to figure out when he’d asked if it was okay.  Cas gave him a smile full of affection and comfort as he held his face in his hands.   “Yes.  Don’t worry.  You did it right.  You did great.”  And, because Cas could see the road Dean was turning onto, he kissed him on the nose and added, “Good job on your first gay sexcapade.” He hoped the humor would make Dean take a detour off the road of self-doubt, anxiety and fear. 

“Oh my God,” he sputtered, hiding his face in embarrassment as he started to cackle.  Cas joined him and flipped him so they were on their sides, then moved Dean’s hand away from his face.  They each folded an arm under their heads and roved over each other’s open, vulnerable faces.  Cas made sure to keep some part of himself touching Dean to keep him calm. 

“Hey,” Dean said quietly after a few moments.  Cas gave him a questioning look.  “Um, I, uh, need to return the favor.” 

Dean was confused and hurt for a moment when Cas shook his head, but calmed immediately when Cas smirked, “No need, babe.  Happened when yours did.”

“You sure?”

“Am I sure I’m lying in a puddle of spunk that’s going to be painful to clean off?  Yeah, I’m sure.”  They laughed loudly and giddily. 

“Told you you’d be the bottom,” Dean teased, referring to their previous position.

“It doesn’t count if my ass isn’t sore.”

“Fuck’s sake, Cas.”  Cas laughed smugly, and Dean joined him. 

Voices in the hallway broke their reverie.  It was Gabriel chirping at someone – Sam, maybe? – about their location, and they were close.   _Very_  close.

 “Hey, bro, need your help moving tables…”  Dean had seen Cas move quickly, but never as quickly as he moved to his bedroom door to slam it shut on whoever had started opening it on the other side.  “Ow!  Holy shit, what the hell?”

“Did you forget how to knock?” Cas growled as he leaned against the door.  He didn’t have a lock on it.  Dean tiptoed to the closet and tossed Cas a pair of clean jeans as quietly as he could.  

“Knock?  What the fuck are you doing in there?  We’re getting ready for a party, douchenozzle.” 

“I’m changing.”  He shimmied out of his dirty jeans and boxers.  The excitement of the act they’d completed and the adrenaline rush of potentially getting caught pulled his lips into a wide smile, but his face contorted in pain as his body hair was ripped off his body.  He imagined this might be what it was like to wax hair off, and wondered why the hell people would do it to themselves.  Dean pressed his lips together and slapped a fist in front of his mouth to stifle his laughter.  Cas winked at Dean and flashed him the finger, then threw him his dirty jeans and boxers, which he jammed in the closet.

“And?  You think I haven’t seen your junk before?”

“Go away,” he growled again through clenched teeth, enunciating each word slowly, a threat implied.

“Prima donna.  What was wrong with what you were wearing?”

“I spilled something.  Go the fuck away!”  He rolled his eyes at Dean in commiseration as he finished buttoning his jeans.  Dean looked down at the wet spot on his jeans and knew he wouldn’t be able to get away with going out there without someone knowing something was up.  At least only Sam and Cas had seen what he was wearing that day, and Sam probably wouldn’t remember.  He looked around for something that might fit.  Cas’ jeans would probably be a little snug.

“What’d you spill?”  Now Gabe was just being a jerk, in Cas’ opinion.  He could hear the goading in his voice.

“The blood of my enemies.  You’re next.” 

“Is Dean in there?  Charlie said he was,” they heard Sam ask.  Dean mouthed “shit” to Cas and Cas gestured wildly toward the open closet.  Dean jumped into it and closed the door quietly.  Castiel ripped the door open, sending Gabriel barreling into his chest.  He caught him out of reflex. 

“Hey bro,” he greeted cheekily.  Cas glared at him.

“Help me bring this shit downstairs,” he said to the two men filling the doorway.  He handed Gabriel the poster board and Sam some props they’d be using for the skit they were performing for Becky and Carver, then grabbed his clothing for the skit and ushered them out of the room.  Dean waited until he heard the clatter of feet heading down the stairs before sneaking out of Cas’ room and into his own.  He was certain he was making the same pained face as Cas when he pulled off his boxer briefs, but he was also certain he was smiling as much at the memory as Cas had been.  He found a pair of jeans that looked nearly identical to the ones he’d been wearing, and made his way downstairs for the second time that day.

Dean volunteered to run some errands for Becky in hopes that Sam would forget he was looking for him.  He also needed a little time to think.  It wasn’t real sex they had.  Yes, they’d both gotten off, but it was almost by accident, really.  He wasn’t sure it even counted.  But it had to count.  He hadn’t done this with anyone else, wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else.  Castiel was probably the only person he could’ve done that with and not feel completely humiliated or mortified.  Cas was always so understanding, so relaxed.  They’d talk about it.  They should, even if it was hard.  They’d acknowledge it, at least, and they’d at least remain friends.  Best friends.  He hoped.  He tried some of the thought-stopping and relaxation exercises Cas and Benny had taught him while they were on tour so he wouldn’t have a panic attack.  He was trying so hard to be okay with himself, to be okay with his desires, whatever they were, to take things as they came and not to judge them.  His father’s voice still hung in his brain, even after not speaking to him for nearly two years.  It was hard, but with his absence it was getting easier.  Cas, the band, and their families were all helping that voice fade into the background.  Dean loved the life he had.  He let himself hope that maybe it could get even better.

By the time he returned, a few guests had started arriving.  Carver found him and introduced him and Sam to several people – some family, some friends of his in the business, some both – and it warmed Dean to the core when he referred to Dean and Sam as his “adopted” children, as he did with the other band members. 

“Yeah, we’re the sons he wished he had,” Dean joked in earshot of Gabriel, who had approached the group from behind to greet the people he’d surely known for years.  Gabe cheerfully gave him the finger and threw several grapes from his plate in Dean’s direction.  His joke was met with good humor and a clap on the back from Carver for them both.  He led Sam away to introduce him to some people Dean already knew and heard him call Sam his adopted child again.  It still seemed to surprise him that he was folded into the family so easily, and Sam’s happiness at being included was written all over his face.  Dean guessed it was written on his, too.

“Hey, Smiley,” Cas greeted Dean with a friendly arm slung across his shoulders. 

“I love your family, Cas,” Dean greeted in return as he imitated the gesture around his friend. 

“And they love you.”

“What, only they love me?  What about you?” he asked as he cocked a curious eyebrow.  He hoped it didn’t sound needy.  It wasn’t meant to.  He just wanted to make sure everything was okay between them. 

“I find you tolerable,” he winked.  Charlie called his name, and Cas released Dean, winking again and exaggeratedly blowing him a kiss before walking away.  Dean chuckled under his breath.  No matter what they did, it didn’t seem to matter.  Dean and Cas were cool.  No drama, no demands, no weirdness.  It was comforting.  He watched Cas walk away.  Bobby and Jody, watching from afar and amused by the exchange, sauntered over to Dean and chatted with him about the band’s upcoming trip to Europe.  They didn’t mention the sappy grin on Dean’s face.

The bandmates gathered the guests together to watch Cas and Charlie’s reenactment of Carver and Becky’s hilarious first date, which was legendary in their family.  The crowd laughed and cheered at their antics.  MTC performed several songs, including a heartfelt rendition of “Tonight I Celebrate My Love for You,” the first song the couple danced to at their wedding.  Castiel and Dean sang it as a duet, and they made sure to ham it up to make the crowd and the happy couple laugh.  Karaoke opened up after the band was finished, and the party continued long into the night. 

The evening ended much like the night before had, with Castiel and Dean collapsing on the pillows face-down in exhaustion on Cas’ bed.  This time, however, they were dressed for bed in t-shirts and pajama pants.  They didn’t talk about anything that happened that day, but when he thought Dean was asleep, Cas linked his pinky with Dean’s.  Dean smiled.

Hours later, an unknown number made Dean’s phone buzz in the pocket of his jeans he’d dropped on the floor.  No one left a message.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs and other works referenced in this chapter:  
> Under the Wave off Kanagawa, Hokusai, woodblock print  
> Tonight I Celebrate My Love for You by Peabo Bryson and Roberta Flack


	10. Chapter 10

_October - December 2014_

Their autumn tour in Europe had been, in a word, liberating.  The crowds were enthusiastic, the sights were breathtaking, and the change of culture was inspiring.  They were scheduled to record their second album in January, and they had enough material for at least two.  The entire band had been on fire, collaborating and maturing professionally and personally.  Castiel had called it their little Renaissance. 

And, of course, there were other things that happened that were liberating, things that made the Europe tour the Renaissance it ultimately had become.

“I fuckin’ love this movie,” Cas proclaimed one afternoon in mid-October, fairly early in their tour schedule.  They’d just arrived an hour ago to their hotel, a rare treat since they usually stayed on the bus.  They wouldn’t be performing until tomorrow night.  “Have you seen it, Dean?”  He pointed to the DVD in his hand, one of several Gabriel had overnighted (well, two-nighted) to their hotel when Dean complained about not being able to watch TV in English.  Dean shook his head.  Castiel dragged him to the bed in their hotel room and sat him down, plunking down next to him with his laptop in hand.  They took off their shoes and socks and made themselves comfortable.  Cas slid the DVD into the drive and hit “play movie” when the  _Zack and Miri Make a Porno_  title screen appeared.  The friends laughed through some of the more absurd moments (“ _Star Wars_  porn?  I’d watch that,” Dean commented) and were uncharacteristically quiet during the scene where Zack and Miri awkwardly prepare themselves to have sex on camera, then settle in for what could only really be called lovemaking, if the looks on their faces were any indication.  Although it was one of his favorite movies already, it made Castiel’s gut twist a little as he watched Miri and Zack’s friendship grow into something more.  And yeah, he had always been a sucker for that happy ending, but it seemed more poignant now, and it made him ache.  He’d had very few actual relationships, always too busy or too wary to get close to someone.  There was always some sort of flaw with the other person – she didn’t take life seriously enough, he took life too seriously and it was a bummer to be together, he just wanted a quick fuck, she wanted to move too fast, et cetera, et cetera.  Cas could always find an excuse, a fatal flaw.  He protected himself to the point of isolation, broken only by his occasional loneliness or lust, and he immediately locked all the deadbolts again when the feeling had passed or the itch was scratched.  He felt safe behind the door, confident that he held the only skeleton key to all the locks...

“Hey, you all right?” the low, familiar voice asked.  A warm shoulder nudged at his face.

…except that Dean had stolen the key out of his pocket when he wasn’t looking. 

 “Yeah, fine.”

 “No you’re not.”

“Just zoning out.”

They just watched the part in the movie when Zack saw the video clip of him and Miri, and now he was talking to her through the bathroom door, proclaiming his love so they’d live happily ever after.  Yeah, the nude guy put him off a little, but Zack got over himself and went after Miri anyway, even when he thought Miri and the guy were a thing.  They were so normal, so human, Castiel thought.  Messed up in their own ways, but beautifully messy together.  Kind of like his parents, although the thought of his parents making a porno made him cringe internally.  But his parents, he’d learned sooner than most kids, were human, fallible and vulnerable, prone to emotion and weakness and mistakes and poor decisions.  Yet they always chose each other, and it was worth it, they said.  He believed them, because he saw it.  They were better together, stronger together, and once Dad had kicked the alcohol, nothing could tear them apart.  They’d gone through Hell and emerged victorious.  He envied that, in a way.  Lust was easy.  Love was hard.  But maybe it was worth it.  He hadn’t decided yet.

A weight pressed gently and warm breath tickled the crown of his head.  “You’re far away.”

“I’m right here.”

“That’s not what I mean, you avoidant little shit.”

Castiel’s body shook from his suppressed laugh, but stayed silent. 

“Fine, don’t tell me.  See if I care.”

“Okay.”

“Tell me.”

“That was fast.”

Dean took Cas’ hand in his and stroked it with his thumb.  “Turns out I do care.”

Castiel smiled and squeezed Dean’s hand.  “Just thinking.”

“It’s a rom-com, Cas.  It’s not supposed to make you think.”

“Did you like it?” Cas asked, trying to change the topic.

“Yeah, actually.  It was really good.  Now what’s wrong?”

Castiel sighed and dropped Dean’s hand.  He stood and paced the tiny shoebox of a room they were sharing nestled just outside of the Paris city limits.  “I’m restless.”

“We could go out, see the sights.” 

“I’m not that kind of restless.”

Dean lifted an eyebrow.  “What kind of restless are you?”

“Just… internally restless, I guess.”

“Seems like you’ve been internally restless for a while now.”

Cas turned to Dean, still seated on the bed and looking at him with curiosity and openness in those eyes ( _oh yes, I’m going to write a song about those eyes_ ).  He unfolded his arms and leaned against the windowsill behind him.  “And how do you know that?”

“I know you better than you think,” Dean smirked.  Cas turned his face away bashfully as Dean approached and grasped his biceps loosely in his gorgeous hands, hands that had touched him playfully, comfortingly, even lustfully.   _I could write a song about those, too._   “I know that you’ve been absorbed in composing, but you’re stuck and you’re pissed about it.  I know that you’ve been trying to avoid something, because you’ve been quiet with all of us.  I know you’re frustrated, because you have too much energy at the shows.  You’re doing risky things during the performances.  How’m I doing?” 

Castiel shrugged and lowered his eyes.  He traced the pattern of the worn Oriental rug under his feet.

“Is it me?”

Cas shook his head.

“Yeah it is.” 

“No,” he sighed.  “I’m just… in a state of longing, I guess.”

Dean scrunched up his face.  “I’m already surrounded by languages I don’t understand, Cas.  Translate that for me.”

Cas looked at Dean, then turned his body away and gazed out the window toward the dusk-darkened street.  He braced his arms against the casing and watched an older man sweeping the sidewalk, a woman walking hurriedly with a young child in her arms, another woman walking hand-in-hand with a man not minding the raindrops that started to dot the ground.  “I’ve been having these recurring dreams.  In one of them I’m in the desert, and I’m sweating and thirsty and my throat is so dry I swear I can feel it when I wake up, and I always see water up ahead, but when I get there it’s a mirage, never real.  In the other one I’m wearing armor, like full-on medieval knight armor gear, and I’m running through the woods after someone, someone I apparently really want to catch because I’m hauling ass, and the armor is fucking heavy, but I keep hauling ass.  Sometimes I catch him and sometimes I don’t.   And in the dream, when I do catch him, I want to kiss him but I can’t because I can’t get the armor off my head.  And I get pissed.  And he’s wearing a mask, too, and it’s weird, it’s like a living mask, this writhing, ugly thing.  He takes it off but he won’t let it go, and I hate the fucking thing, and I yell at him because somehow I think it’s the mask’s fault I can’t get the armor off and if he would just kill the mask it would be fine, like the fucking spell would be broken or something.”  Cas stopped, realizing he’d been raising his voice, and exhaled harshly, steaming up the window.  Gentle hands slid up his arms and rested on his shoulders.  “And I wake up pissed off, and that vague sense of longing is stuck in my chest,” he finished.

“Who’s the guy?” Dean asked quietly in his ear.  His body heat soaked into Castiel’s skin. 

Cas shook his head and shrugged.  “I don’t know.”

“So you think you’re longing for someone or something you can’t have?” Dean surmised.

“Maybe.  No idea.”  He rested his head on the cool glass and looked at the reflection of his face ghosted on the pane, raindrops making it seem like he was crying. 

“Wow.  I, uh… wow.  That’s deep.”

Cas really wanted to get away from this conversation.  He’d said too much, taken it in a direction he didn’t want to go.  He felt vulnerable in a very different way than he was used to feeling with the man.  He felt raw and exposed and out of control; he much preferred feeling in control of himself and whatever situation he was in.  Right now he was weak and selfish, giving too much of a burden to his friend, too much to expect him to carry.  This was Castiel’s to carry.  Always Castiel’s to carry.  He breathed a small laugh through his nose.  “It’s not deep, really.  I’m probably just horny.  It’s been a while.”

Dean sighed.  “You’re hiding.”

“I’m not.”

“I know you, Cas.”

“Then let me hide, Dean.”  It came out like a growl from a cornered dog.

Dean paused for a beat.  “Fine.”  He dropped his hands from Castiel’s shoulders.  Cas swallowed his disappointment and the shiver left in his hands’ wake.  Out of the corner of his eye he could see Dean texting, then tossing his phone noisily on the nightstand.  He flicked on one small light.  Cas looked back to the street, though in the encroaching darkness it was harder to see anything.   The familiar pair of hands returned to his shoulders and turned him.  Facing Dean now, he saw softness and a little bit of something else.  Cas thought it might be pain.  He slowly unbuttoned Castiel’s shirt, an orange and blue plaid that should’ve been ugly but reminded Dean of a sunset by the ocean.  When the last button had been freed, he gently pushed the shirt down his shoulders and onto the floor.  Carefully he pulled the blue t-shirt, sliding his hands up Cas’ sides as the shirt gathered in his fingers, and waited for Cas to lift his arms so the t-shirt could be tossed aside.  Dean did the same with the red, zippered hooded sweatshirt of Cas’ that he’d borrowed earlier and his black t-shirt underneath.  He trained his eyes on his best friend as he slipped Cas’ jeans down over muscled legs, never wavering even as he knelt down to remove each leg in turn.  Pulses quickened as Dean removed his own.  Naked except for boxers, Dean took Castiel’s hand in his and walked backwards, leading him to the single full-size bed they would be sharing for the night, since it was all the hotel had left.  Eyes still on Castiel, he pulled back the blankets and glided across the mattress, leaving space for Cas to drop down next to him, which he did without question.  Dean pulled the covers over them until they were ensconced in near darkness, now only shadowy shapes to each other and hidden from the world.

“I’ll let you hide, Cas,” Dean said, “but I’m gonna hide with you.”

It ripped off the armor, made the mirage real. 

“Dean,” Cas whispered.  “Dean.”  He rolled into Dean’s arms and rested half of his body on him as he buried his head in the crook of Dean’s neck, and they remained that way for several minutes as Dean’s hand roamed through Cas’ hair, along his face, down his shoulders.  “Cas,” he responded each time Cas said his name. 

“I’m afraid of how much I want you,” Cas finally admitted in the dark as Dean stroked his arm.

“Me too, Cas,” Dean responded in a shaky voice.  “Me too.”

They lay in silence, absorbing the words in the space between them.

“I’m afraid I’ll keep listening to my dad’s voice in my head,” Dean confessed. 

“I’m afraid I’ll listen to all the negative thoughts floating in my head.”

“I’m afraid to be different.”

“I’m afraid I’ll jeopardize everything we’ve worked so hard for as a band.”

“I’m afraid I’ll be a disappointment.”

“I’m afraid I’m letting my past affect my future.”

Dean paused.  He was pretty sure he knew what Cas meant.  It wasn’t a secret (anymore) that Dean drank occasionally, but he thought he had it well under control, kept it strictly social, and that Cas was okay with it.  Maybe he wasn’t.  Dean could change, if it meant that much to Cas.  If there was going to be something between them.  “You know what really scares me?” 

“What?”  Cas set a reassuring hand on Dean’s chest, on his heart.

“Fucking up so bad that you won’t want me in your life anymore.”

Cas sat up on an elbow.  “Oh, Dean,” he said, reaching for his face.  Dean mirrored his movement, then pulled Cas down to him and kissed him as if it would be their last.  Desperate, passionate kisses, fueled by confessions and want, heated the intimate den of blankets. 

“I want you,” Dean rasped.

“You have me,” Cas reassured him, mouth dry and heart beating wildly.

As his hands roamed, Dean removed their boxers.  Feeling Cas against him, Dean was at once nervous and hungry with anticipation and arousal.  He pressed a deep moan into Cas’ mouth at the contact, and another as Cas took them both in hand.

“Want you, babe,” Cas breathed into Dean’s sweat-soaked skin.

“You’ve got me, sweetheart,” Dean panted as he bit, then kissed Castiel’s bottom lip and pulled him ever closer. 

Cas moved his hand faster, adding to the intoxicating pressure and friction.  He nudged at Dean’s free hand and moved it on top of his other hand so they were moving as one.  The pleasure soared through Dean as they moved together; it was a pleasure he’d certainly never known with anyone else, and by Cas’ reaction he hoped he felt the same way.  Cas stiffened suddenly, and the scream of unbridled pleasure threw Dean off the edge, and he screamed right along with him.  For several long moments, the sound of their rapid breathing was the only sound in their sacred space, until Cas reluctantly spoke.

“Shit.  We were supposed to meet everyone for dinner.”

“I texted them earlier to cancel.  Told them we were tired and were just gonna grab something later if we felt like eating.”

“Thank you.”

A few minutes passed in comfortable, sated silence.

“The neighbors are going to be very unhappy with us,” Cas mumbled into Dean’s chest.  Dean’s declaration of “fuck ‘em” in Cas’ ear startled a delighted laugh out of Cas, one Dean joined in happily.  He loved making Cas laugh.  Cas laughing, in Dean’s arms, had to be one of the best feelings in the world, and it was all for him, for them. 

Cas debated with himself whether to burst the bubble, whether to turn this happy thing into anything more.  These events, these bursts of happiness with Dean, had become more intense every time, and this one was the most intense, the most intimate yet.  Those bursts were becoming too addictive to allow himself to have them only every few months (or longer).  He was afraid to walk down that road.  He saw the pain his parents went through, his grandparents went through.  But Castiel felt certain he could control things, could have this without falling victim to it, could keep his heart sheltered.  There was nothing wrong with indulging his lust.  Fuck it.  Cas finally asked, “So, what do we do now?”

They agreed not to define the new dimension to their relationship, to just be themselves, but greater than.  They agreed not to tell anyone else about it – they didn’t know where it was going, didn’t want to out Dean when he wasn’t ready, didn’t want to make things weird within the band, didn’t want pressure or expectations from their friends or family or fans or the media.  They agreed to be as open-minded and sensitive as possible to each other, to ask and not to expect, to talk.  They silently agreed, through omission and without conscious thought, to not tell each other their greatest fear of all:  that they would fall in love.

After that night, everything had a sort of glow to it – the glow of contentment, excitement, a shared, happy light.  The tour, hanging with the band, the creativity, the travel,  _everything_  was in Technicolor.  Castiel had watched Dean for any signs of regret, fear, embarrassment, or self-hatred, and found none.  Dean had watched Cas for any signs of regret, rejection, embarrassment, or disdain, and found none.  The songs they wrote were still edgy but optimistic.  The cover songs they still threw into their shows, though only one a night now, were upbeat, energetic, and fun.  They had great shows before, but the lightness of the co-leads was infectious.  Sales soared, buzz grew.  They were making music, performing music.  They were with their best friends.  It was the happiest Castiel and Dean had ever been.

***

“I’ll be home for Christmas,” Castiel crooned as he and Dean stepped into the Edlund-Rosen home two days before Christmas.  His mother, who’d been dressing in her bedroom, squealed in delight and ran to them, embracing and kissing Cas, then Dean. 

“You’re early!  You weren’t supposed to be home until tomorrow!” she gushed.  She ushered them up to Cas’ bedroom, explaining that she’d freshened everything up for their arrival.  She didn’t bother telling Dean she’d done the same in his room.  She knew he would know.  She also knew he didn’t always spend his nights there.  She never mentioned it.  Castiel had always been generous and affectionate and never minded sharing his space or his bed with his friends.  And, if her son and Dean were more than friends, that was okay with her.

“Oh, boys, I wish I’d known you were coming home early!  Your father and I are going to dinner and a Christmas show tonight in the city with Sam and Gabe and their girlfriends,” Becky said regretfully. 

“It’s okay, Mom,” Cas said as he hugged her again.  “We’re pretty beat anyway.  Enjoy the show and we’ll see you guys in the morning.  Thank you for doing all this, by the way.”

“Anything for my boys,” she smiled.  “We’ll be home late, but we’ll make you a big breakfast tomorrow.  Oh!  Have you eaten?  Come down and have some of the leftovers from last night.  Dad made beef stew and homemade biscuits, and your brother made mint chocolate mousse.”  Never ones to turn down a home-cooked meal, the men followed Becky downstairs and ate while she put the finishing touches on her hair in the half-bathroom off the hallway.  They waved goodbye to her shortly after they finished their desserts.  They each ran upstairs to wash the day’s travels off their bodies – Dean in the main bathroom off the second floor hallway and Cas in his parents’ master bath – and met up again in Cas’ room.  Dean seemed to take longer than he usually did.

“Home,” Dean smiled as he collapsed backwards onto Castiel’s tightly-made bed. 

“Yes.  Home,” Cas agreed.  He anxiously wondered whether they’d be able to maintain the – arrangement?  relationship? – they’d started in Europe.  Despite the fact that it was Castiel’s bed, he approached slowly, giving himself plenty of time to read Dean’s reaction.  Dean just gazed at him with summer eyes, as Cas called them in his head – green and warm and full of life.  It was all the assurance he needed before he slid on top of him and nuzzled just under his ear, making Dean twist and purr like a content cat.  He’d hesitated initiating intimate contact for a long time, nervous that Dean would either reject Cas himself or reject the idea that he is gay (or however he labeled himself, which he hadn’t really decided yet).  They’d even fought about it once (“I always kiss you first, Cas, why is that?”), which had been the turning point for Cas.  If he was truly saying “fuck it,” then he needed to throw caution to the wind.  After that, it was more reciprocal, and so far, so good. 

“I think we’re alone now,” Cas sang.  Dean groaned as he remembered the old pop hit, forced upon him one day when they were lounging around the living room and Carver and Becky were singing it at the top of their lungs along with the video (and they sounded better than the original, in Dean’s opinion).  Carver told him the singer used to tour malls.  Dean was really glad they didn’t have to do that. 

“Hmm, what do you want to do?” Dean asked as Cas switched sides, working under his other ear now. 

“I’m open to ideas,” he replied, not stopping his ministrations.  He smiled at Dean’s halted breaths.  “We could go out?”  A bite.  A shudder.  “Read by the fire?”   A lick.  A moan.  “Play games?” he said, his voice rolling over Dean’s ear.  Cas had often used that sultry, gravelly voice to tease him.  He still did, but now it carried an extra layer, one of possibility.  Damn him.  He grabbed Cas’ face and kissed him soundly, hoping it was answer enough. 

They didn’t do this every time they were alone.  In many ways, they were just as they’d always been, their new intimacy adding to rather than substituting for their friendship.  His question had been sincere, as had Cas’ response.  He really would’ve been okay with whatever Cas answered.  Cas really would’ve been okay with whatever Dean chose.  But they were alone, for hours.  It was rare.  During the tour, they’d had to snatch brief moments when they could.  They were frequently surrounded by others.  They were usually staying on the tour bus with tiny single bunks rather than a hotel.  They didn’t want to raise suspicion.  And they were just plain  _busy_.  For a few hours, tonight, they were together. Who knew when they’d have the opportunity again?

A quickie later they lay side-by-side, blissed out.  Dean smiled lazily at his dark-haired best friend.   _You’re my best friend, best friend with benefits_  popped into his head suddenly.  He remembered the line from a song that was sung by Alanis Morissette, but he couldn’t remember the title or the rest of it.  He usually asked Cas when he was stuck trying to remember a song.  If “Name that Tune” was still on television, the other contestants would’ve gone home with toasters or a year’s supply of cereal because Cas would’ve aced it and taken home all of the prize money or whatever they gave you.  He had a feeling, though, that thinking about that song was maybe something he wanted to keep to himself for a while. 

“It’s your birthday tomorrow.”

“It is.”

“What do you want?”  He’d already purchased something for Cas, but he wanted to give him everything he could ever want. 

“This.”

“This?”  Dean waved his hand between the two of them.

“Mmmhmm.”  Cas curled into Dean’s chest, near his shoulder, and closed his eyes.

“How about… maybe a little more than this?” Dean asked cautiously.  He’d been thinking about it for some time.  He didn’t think he’d do this for anyone else,  _with_  anyone else, but this was Cas.  There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for him.

“What do you mean?” Cas asked in return, mirroring Dean’s cautious tone.

“Um, well,” he started as he traced his friend’s arm, “I mean, you know, like, sex.”

Castiel opened one eye and looked at Dean.  “Isn’t that what we’ve been doing?”

“Yeah, but… you know.  More.”

“What, like, you want a marathon or something?  I’m young but I still have a refractory period, you know.”

“Show off with your fancy terms,” Dean smiled and jostled his own shoulder in order to bump Cas’ head.  He pinched Dean’s nipple in return, earning him a squawk as his reward, and Dean swatted his hand.  “No, I don’t mean a marathon.”

“What do you mean, then?” Cas asked.  In fact, he assumed Dean meant penetrative sex, but he wasn’t going to let Dean squirm out of actually saying it, or something close.  He wouldn’t let him suffer too long, though.  The thought alone was tantalizing, and he’d only be punishing himself if he prolonged it to the point that Dean decided to bag the whole thing.  He turned his head up and gently moved Dean’s to face him.  “You can talk to me, Dean.”

“Sex, like… I’m on the bottom kind of sex?”  Dean blushed a bright crimson and bit his lip.  Cas’ eyes tracked the motion but didn’t let him off the hook quite yet.  “You know?  Lots of lube?  Sore for days?  Uh…”  Castiel continued to watch him with a confused look on his face.  Dean regarded him a moment before his face crumpled into an embarrassed grin.  “You’re enjoying this, you fucker.”  Cas dropped his confused puppy look immediately and laughed a bright, happy laugh that pulled Dean into the joke instead of making him the victim of it.  He quickly lay Dean onto his back and planted kisses on his friend’s freckled face and full lips until he was laughing through them all.  Castiel stopped then and gazed at his friend until Dean stopped and stared back.

“Yes,” Cas simply said. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ll, uh, have to tell me what to do,” Dean said nervously, biting his lip once again.

Cas affected an exaggerated sultry tone as he wiggled his eyebrows.  “Mmm, I’d love to tell you what to do.”  He kissed his way across Dean’s jaw, and then buried his face under Dean’s earlobe.

“Knew you’d be a friggin’ dom,” Dean joked, the nervousness dissipating as Cas hoped it would.

Castiel hummed a rich chuckle through Dean’s skin.  It sounded even deeper since he was so close to Dean’s ear, and it sent a delicious shock of shivers through Dean, lighting up every nerve in his body.  Cas raised his head to look at Dean, his fingers massaging Dean’s scalp.  Dean was grateful he’d washed the styling product out of his hair when he’d showered earlier, because he didn’t want anything stopping Cas from working his magic.  Despite what he’d offered and agreed to do, he wasn’t afraid anymore.  A little nervous, yes, but he was trusting and certain, supple under Castiel’s fingers and body and mind. 

“I’m going to take good care of you, Dean,” Cas whispered with such sincerity that Dean’s breath caught in his lungs. 

“I know, Cas,” he answered without a single doubt.

Dean expected a lot of things for his first time.  After all, he’d read about it online and that one time they stopped at a library when they had a free day.  He’d watched a few informational things on YouTube.  He expected to be nervous.  He expected it to hurt.  He expected he might be embarrassed (and God he hoped nothing embarrassing happened with his body – he probably should’ve avoided the “nightmare” stories).  He certainly expected to be the dumbass who didn’t know how to position himself or what to do next.  He expected he might have some pleasure out of it, but he didn’t need to this time around – this was for Cas.  Yes, Dean expected a lot of things.  What he didn’t expect – but really should have, because it was Cas, and he was a little ashamed he didn’t – was how  _fun_  it was.  Cas took every opportunity to make obscene jokes, to act like a fool (he would  _never_  forget the little dance Cas did for him, naked, on his knees), to slap his ass, to sing bawdy country songs, and of course, to tell him he’s amazing and to touch him gently and carefully and to slow down and talk him through the discomfort and to finally fill him with the kind of sensation he’d never known.  He was so overwhelmed with it all that he knew he’d barely done anything for Cas, but Cas still looked at him with a look he’d never seen from the man before.  Suddenly Dean was a bungee jumper, falling noisily but with exhilaration, knowing he was going to be caught before any harm came to him.  It was a tandem jump; Cas fell right along with him. 

“Happy birthday,” Dean said after several minutes of breathlessness.  The red digital display on the clock read 12:21 a.m.  Cas had cleaned them both up with a warm washcloth, then tossed it across the room, and now they were sitting facing each other, propped up on pillows and sharing a glass of water Cas had poured for them.  “How are you doing?”

“I’m doing great, Dean.”

Despite the noisiness of their activities, Dean was uncertain.  Cas really hadn’t let him do much of anything except lay there and enjoy it, even though it was supposed to be something he was doing for Cas.  “You sure?”  He took a mouthful of water to calm his nerves.

Cas rolled his eyes.  “Yes, Dean.  I feel like I finally found the right tampon that will accommodate my active lifestyle and allow me to wear white.”

Cas’ face and chest were soaked with water and spit, courtesy of Dean.  He slapped his sandy-haired friend on the back a few times as Dean coughed up the water he’d choked on while laughing at his joke.

“I’m trying to be serious here,” Dean finally wheezed.  He didn’t know if he wanted to slap his friend’s smug face or kiss it. 

“Sorry, babe,” Cas replied with a smile as he caressed his face.   “Really.  It was amazing, Dean.  You were awesome.  Thank you.”  His face became impossibly softer, filled with too much emotion for his young years.  “How are you doing?”

Dean laced his fingers with Castiel’s.  “Really awesome.  I won’t be riding any horses tomorrow, probably, but I feel really good.”  Cas grinned at Dean’s joke and pulled him forward for a kiss.  “You made it really great.  I wasn’t scared.”

“I’m glad.”

“Yeah.  I mean, it was intense, but yeah.  Was it like that for you when you bottomed for the first time?” 

Cas grew quiet, and Dean wondered if he said something wrong.  “I’ve never bottomed,” he finally answered. 

“You haven’t?”  Dean tried to keep the incredulity out of his voice.  He always thought Cas was so experienced, despite his age.  Cas shook his head.  “Why not?”

Castiel shrugged.  “I just never wanted to with a partner before.  I don’t give up control easily.”

“No kidding.”  Cas shoved him lightly, but Dean continued.  “Do you, ah, think you would, ever?”

“With the right person,” Cas said as he looked at Dean through his eyelashes.  He pulled Dean forward into a brief, heated kiss, then broke away only to stare at him.  Dean stared right back. 

Noise from downstairs broke their concentration.  Cas leaned over Dean and turned off the small lamp next to the bed.  “Better if they don’t see a light under the door right now,” he explained.  Dean nodded and drew Cas down to the bed, where Cas tucked an arm behind Dean’s neck and another around his waist.  When they woke up there would be family and friends and new girlfriends to meet, there would be a birthday to celebrate and a Christmas feast to prepare for, there would be movies and eggnog and the hubbub of family life with a family who missed them like crazy.  But now, there was only the two of them, and they wanted to keep it that way for a little longer.

Two calls from an unknown number went unanswered.  No messages were left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs and other works referenced in this chapter:  
> Zack and Miri Make a Porno, movie  
> I’ll Be Home for Christmas by Bing Crosby  
> I Think We’re Alone Now by Tiffany  
> Head Over Feet by Alanis Morissette  
> Name That Tune, television show


	11. Chapter 11

_January-March 2015_

“Alright, you friggin’ moose, lift up your end and turn the corner,” Dean grunted.  Dean and Castiel were moving into their first apartment together, with an extra room for Sam, whose university was nearby.  Sam had lived in a dorm the first semester, but decided dorm life wasn’t what he was looking for, and moved back with the Edlund-Rosens.  However, he convinced his brother and his brother’s boyfriend (“We aren’t boyfriends, Sam,” they had both explained to him) to get an apartment with an extra room for him so he could move in officially when he turned 18 in a few months.  (“I can keep an eye on it while you’re gone on tour, and you guys know you want your own space!” he had said to convince them, and it worked.)  They managed to move the heavy couch through the doorway and into the living room, where they dropped it unceremoniously.

“Way to piss off the neighbors,” Cas said as he rounded the corner, Gabriel following just behind him.  He and Gabe had been assembling a new bed.  His parents had insisted on keeping the beds at home and buying them new beds, so they bought two queen beds for the apartment.  When they were delivered Cas and Dean were surprised to find that there weren’t separate beds for the two of them.  Cas called his mother to ask about it, and she stumbled through half-started explanations before saying she didn’t think it would be a problem since Cas and Dean were so used to sharing.  They were teased mercilessly by their siblings and bandmates but didn’t bother getting an extra bed.

“You try carrying that monstrosity upstairs,” Dean moaned.  Sam rolled his eyes. 

“Gabe and I carried the table,” Cas said.  “That thing was awkward and top-heavy. We almost fell on our asses in the snow.  You’re not the only one working here.”

“Aww, poor baby.”  Dean made a pouty, crying face, which Cas imitated until the two men were wrestling playfully.  Sam eyed Gabe from across the room and shook his head in fond exasperation.  Gabe held up a bottle of water for him, and Sam crossed into the kitchen and accepted it gratefully.  “Not boyfriends my ass,” he muttered, and Gabe stifled a chuckle behind his hand. 

The band thought it was a fine time to celebrate both the new apartment and Dean’s birthday, so they brought pizza and wings and pie to the new apartment.  Sam’s girlfriend Sarah visited, armed with spanakopita, and she was welcomed with open arms. 

“So what are you doing for your birthday tomorrow?” Benny asked. 

“Eh, not much,” he shrugged. 

“Not getting plastered like last year?” Ash joked.  Cas winced a little.  There were things about that birthday he enjoyed remembering, but that wasn’t one of them.

“Nah.  We gotta start in the studio on Monday.  I’ll probably just hang out here, get shit put away.”  He “accidentally” brushed his pinky finger against Cas’, and Cas trapped it under his own briefly.  Cas had promised him some type of activity for his birthday, but it was a surprise.  He knew it wouldn’t involve drinking, though, since that wasn’t Cas’ bag.  And really, it had become Dean’s go-to less and less.  When he got a little overwhelmed he might have a drink, but more often he’d talk to Cas or Benny or just get himself lost in some music. 

His mind wandered to him and Cas and what they were doing.  It was great.  Awesome, really.  It was still secret, though, and he wondered if that bothered Cas even though Cas said it didn’t.  He wondered if that was just Cas being… well,  _Cas_ , being all nice and understanding and just too fucking good for him.  They were best friends and now “friends with benefits” (Dean hated that term, but didn’t have another he liked any better), but they weren’t “dating” even though they knew they were exclusive to each other.  Would Cas ever want more?  Would Dean?  And if so, could Dean ever deserve to be that person to give it to him?  The thoughts consumed him until bedtime, when he fell into their new bed ( _their_  bed) next to his gorgeous roommate, his friend with benefits, his best friend in the entire world.  He pulled Castiel’s arm around him and rested his head on his pecs, near his heart.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Cas asked gently.

“Nothing.  Just need you close,” he answered.  Cas hummed and drew him closer.   _I can talk to him_ , Dean thought.   _I can ask.  I can.  He’ll get it.  I just want to be myself… with him._   He fell asleep before he could say any of those words.

Dean’s birthday was the best he’d ever had.  Cas surprised him by taking him snowboarding, something neither had ever done but “if we’re gonna be fools, we can be fools together.”  They’d had a blast falling on their asses and, eventually, riding like pros (okay, like amateurs, but they managed to stay upright).  He treated Dean to burgers and pie.  Dean didn’t miss the alcohol once. 

At home, Cas immediately pushed him against the door and pressed against him, and they quickly became a blur of busy limbs and breathless noise throughout the new apartment as they moved into the bedroom.  “What do you want?” Cas finally paused their manic movements to ask Dean’s shadow.  They hadn’t bothered to turn on any lights in the bedroom, and the room was dark in the winter evening.  When there was no immediate reply, but rather a stilling of the man beneath him, Cas said, “Dean?”

Dean was nervous all of a sudden.  He lay there and listened to the sound of his own rapid breathing and tried to slow it down, knowing his heart was doing the same.  What did he want?  What a loaded question.  He felt Cas lift off him and heard his breath slow until he wasn’t sure Cas was actually breathing at all.  He was waiting for Dean.

“Cas,” Dean croaked through a suddenly-dry throat, “I want… I want you.”

“You have me.”  Cas touched Dean’s shoulder, and his body responded like one of those plasma globe toys they sell at novelty stores – it lit up and desire migrated directly to the spot where his hand was splayed.

“I know, I mean I want… more.”  He didn’t know how to define it, so he didn’t.

“More?” Cas asked.  “You mean more, like what we did last month on my birthday?  Like you want to bottom?”  He paused.  “Or want me to?”

Dean hesitated for a second.  Cas usually knew exactly what he was trying to say, so words were never much of an issue between them, but he wasn’t quite getting it.  Dean didn’t know either, though, and it was easier going this route than trying to explain  _more_ , trying to explain the jumble in his brain.  And yeah, doing something they hadn’t before, knowing he’d be Cas’ first – maybe that was it.  Maybe he wanted Cas in a way no one else ever had him. 

“Yeah.  I want you to,” he whispered, turning to face Cas in the dark. 

“Then I will,” Cas said simply.

Dean felt keyed up.  This was monumental.  He would forever be the person who did this for Cas for the first time, and the last thing he wanted to do was screw this up.  “You sure?” he asked, and felt Cas press a smiling kiss onto his lips.  He took Cas’ face in his and deepened the kiss.

“Okay cowboy, show me what you got,” Cas challenged.  His voice sounded playful and happy, but in a way Dean couldn’t quite put his finger on.  So he put his fingers elsewhere and tried to forget his apprehension as he made Castiel moan under him.  Cas wouldn’t lay back and relax the way he’d made Dean do his first time, though.  He wanted to be an active participant, so they moved and writhed together, fast and hard and unrestrained.  They had fun and Dean prepped him well and made the man groan and sweat, but it felt frenzied, off.  In a thick voice he told Dean he was ready and begged for him as he turned his back to him and prepared for Dean to enter him.  It didn’t sound right.  It didn’t feel right.  He flicked on the bedside lamp they’d taken from Cas’ old room.  An arm shot in front of Cas’ face to shield his eyes.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Dean asked, a little gruffly without meaning to be. 

“You’re not fucking me, that’s what’s going on,” Cas responded, voice muffled and strained.  He was leaning into the headboard with his eyes still covered.  Dean’s stomach sank to his feet.

“Look at me, Cas,” he demanded, but gently.  “C’mon, honesty, communication and all that shit,” he said in response to Cas’ head shake.  Castiel finally relented and Dean’s heart broke. 

“Aw, shit, sweetheart, come here,” he said as he turned Cas’ face toward him, taking in his quivering lip and his eyes brimming with unshed tears.  Dean pulled him into a tender, reassuring hug, like Cas had done for him so many times.  It was strange, being the one on the other side.  Cas was always so strong, so confident, so in charge.  He didn’t think he’d ever seen the man cry.  Cas had seen Dean cry a few times, much to Dean’s chagrin.  “Tell me.”

“I’m sorry, this is a sucky thing to do to you on your birthday,” Cas responded.  Dean dismissed that sentiment and pressed on until Cas told him, “I don’t know how to explain it.  It’s not the physical stuff.  It’s… the whole thing is overwhelming.  I’m nervous but I don’t know why,” he finished.

Somehow, he thought he knew what Cas was trying to say, because he felt it too.  “I’m gonna make this good for you, Cas.  Trust me, okay?  Don’t hide from me.  And hey, I’m nervous, too.  We can be nervous together.”

Cas nodded, and Dean turned him around and lay him gently on the bed.  “I wanna see you,” he explained, and Cas seemed comforted by it.  They slowed everything down and watched each other as they touched and joined and undulated toward an end that felt like the exact opposite of an end.  When Dean asked Cas to _just let go sweetheart, let me take care of you_  and Cas nodded with faith he’d never shown in those liquid blue depths, they both had to close their eyes to the torrent of emotional and physical release that ripped through their bodies and the space between them. 

Eventually they detangled and then tangled up again, neither wanting to be apart for longer than necessary.  The atmosphere was charged with change and something powerful and undefined.  Cas rested against Dean, vulnerable and secure in Dean’s arms.  This,  _this_  was  _more_ , Dean thought.

A phone rang.  Dean didn’t know whose, since they had the same ringtone for numbers that hadn’t been assigned a specific one (and it had been a point of contention but neither bothered to change it).  He reached out a hand to silence it, then curled that hand around Cas’ waist and pulled him closer.  No message was left.

In the morning, he caressed Cas’ face while he slept, then woke him with kisses.  Cas whispered endearments and praises, and Dean returned them in kind.  Dean told Cas to sleep for a few more minutes while he made coffee, but Cas insisted he’d rather spend those minutes in bed with Dean and pick up coffee at a drive-through instead, so they did. 

That night, already in bed after a long day at the studio, another call came from the same number.  Answering quickly so the ringing wouldn’t wake Cas, Dean didn’t bother looking at the display.  The darkness returned and sucked him back in.

 

***

 

“You got this, yeah!” Benny called through the speaker as Dean laid down his vocals for “Desert,” one of the songs they’d written during their time in Europe.  Castiel spun in his chair and listened quietly from the control room.  They’d been recording in the studio for three days now, and although Dean sounded great as usual, Cas could tell his voice lacked its usual passion.  He was acting unusual in other ways, too.  He was missing cues and forgetting words.  He was quieter, less enthusiastic, on edge.  He was on his phone more, disappearing more.  Cas wondered if this had to do with the last time they had sex.  Cas had been stupidly emotional, and it probably scared Dean.  Hell, it scared Cas too.  The sex that night didn’t feel like friends with benefits sex.  It wasn’t fun, or playful, or greedy sex.  It was what he imagined lovemaking felt like.  Ugh, another old person word Dean would make fun of him for… if Dean were talking to him.  Well, Dean  _was_  talking to him, he was just unusually reserved.  Last night he came home late, smelling of alcohol covered up poorly with mint gum and cologne.  Cas tried to keep his mouth shut.  Dean owed him nothing.  Maybe it wasn’t the sex that drove him to drink; maybe it was the stress of recording, he reminded himself in the dark.  (Always check your assumptions against facts, Hannah had once told him.)  He desperately wanted to ask, wanted to talk, but it felt awkward and they had work to do.  So Cas pledged to himself to put his own crap aside and focus on the band. 

“Dean, pick up the tempo in the bridge,” Cas rumbled into the mic when recording had paused.  “We talked about that in practice.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he grumbled.  He sighed heavily and wiped a hand over his face.  “Can we pick this up tomorrow?  I think I’m coming down with something.”

Mac, the producer, and Sylk, the engineer, consulted before giving him approval.  Sylk turned to Cas and asked if he wanted to work on laying down the acoustic track they were considering for the album.  He nodded at the violet-haired woman and headed toward the isolation booth.  Dean headed out, making sure Cas had a ride home before he left. 

Dean texted Cas a few hours later, letting him know he was fine and hanging out with “someone he hadn’t seen in a while.”  Cas wished him fun and said he’d see him tonight.

Cas slept alone that night.  His next-to-last thought before falling into a fitful sleep was to remind himself, again, that Dean owed him nothing – no explanations, no fealty, no devotion.  His last thought was that he hoped Dean was safe, and that whoever he was with was taking good care of him.

“Where the hell is he?” Ash groused to the group assembled in the studio lounge the next day.

“I don’t know, but we’re burning daylight here, guys,” Mac said in sympathy.  “I don’t think the record company’s gonna want to pay for time you’re not using.” 

“Let’s go listen to the piece we recorded last night and see if we like it for the album,” Castiel decided.  “If he’s not here by then, I can do the vocals.”  Most of the band followed.  Benny hung back as he frowned down at his phone. 

“I’ll be there soon, guys,” he called before heading out the door.

Dean sat in the parking lot of the studio, bleary and ashamed.  He texted Benny.

 

_To Benny 9:25 a.m.: Can u come to the pkg lot_

Benny barreled out the door and spotted Dean’s black Impala parked at the far end of the lot.  He trotted over and peered in through the driver’s side window, then recoiled and briskly walked to the passenger door, swinging it open and closed without his usual care. 

“What the hell, Dean?” he asked, disappointment tinging his words.

Dean was hungover and sick.  Deep circles carved his face. 

“I can’t go in there, Benny.”  

“Yeah, no shit.  Gimme your fuckin’ keys.  You have enough of the alcohol out of your system?”  Dean handed them over and nodded.  “Thank fuck.  What the hell’s going on with you?”

“I… my dad’s back.”

“Shit.  Dean, you know that’s bad news, brother.”

“Yeah, I know, but he’s homeless, you know?  Staying with a friend, but that’s not gonna last.  I’m just trying to get him a place to live and shit.”

“Doesn’t he need a job first?”

“I can support him for now.”

Benny looked at Dean, eyebrows raised.  “You really think that’s a good idea?”

“He’s my father, Benny.”

Benny sighed and rubbed his temples, attempting to dull the headache forming there.  “I’m gonna go ahead and assume you haven’t told Cas.”  Dean shook his head.  “Brother, that’s gonna bite you in the ass.  Cas, he worries about you, he cares about you.  You gotta get this shit under control, man.  You can’t keep hiding it.  You guys live together.  He’s gonna know something’s up.  He already does.”

“I know, I know.  How’m I supposed to go in there and face him?  I… I’m a damn disappointment to all of you, but Cas, yeah.  It was going so great, Ben, we were going so great, we… shit.  Shit.  Fuck.”  He cursed himself further under his breath.

“Dean.  Are you guys… a thing?”

“What?  No!  ‘Course not.”

“Okay… I was just wonderin’, because he thinks you might be seeing someone.”

“He thinks that?  Fuck, I’m not, I wouldn’t do that to him, I… shit.”

Benny smirked at Dean and punched him lightly in the arm.  “Wanna revise your previous statement?”

Dean buried his face in his hands.  “Don’t say anything, okay?  Shit.  We’re not dating or whatever, we just… it’s just sex, mostly… it’s only been since Europe…”

“Hey, don’t worry about it.  If it makes you feel better, we all thought you were anyway, way before Europe.”  He placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.  “He’s a good guy, Dean.  He’s been one of my best friends for years, and we saw each other through a lot of hard times.  And I’ll tell ya, he’ll fight for you, he’ll sacrifice everything for you.  He’ll help you if that’s what you want.  That’s who he is.  He wants what’s best for you.”  He took a deep breath and released it as he gripped Dean’s shoulder.  “And we all think he’s the best thing for you.  And you’re the best thing for him.”

“I’m not the best thing for him, Benny.”

“Brother, he’s already decided you are.  And you know Cas, he’s a stubborn son of a gun.”  Dean smiled and agreed.  He followed Benny inside, determined to do right by Cas.

Castiel’s heart sank when he saw Dean.  He knew he was quite hungover, which meant he’d been quite drunk.  But he looked so contrite, so sad, Cas knew he’d forgive him for anything he may have done.  He exited the live room and wordlessly pulled Dean into his arms.  Dean stood and just accepted the hug, arms loose around Castiel’s back, chin hooked over his shoulder.  He felt lightheaded and wonky, the feeling of being held by Cas so right but so undeserved.  “My dad’s back, Cas.  I’m sorry,” he rasped.  Cas nodded and released his breath as he held Dean closer.  “We’ll figure it out,” Cas whispered in his ear.  “We’ll figure it out.”

The rest of the day was scrapped, but the next few days were productive and they were able to finish the album.  A couple of times Dean showed up late and hungover but functional. The band said nothing, hoping it would be something he worked out on his own. 

Over the next several weeks, Dean spent about half his time intoxicated or angry.  He pulled it together for public appearances, which they didn’t have many of yet, but the band was worried about the upcoming tour starting in June.  More so, they were worried about their friend.  Castiel worried most of all, as he made excuses while watching him decline.  He knew, deep down, that he shouldn’t be making excuses for him.  He knew the patterns.  He knew what he should do.  Lots of time in therapy taught him all that.  It was just so hard, and he believed in Dean, and believed in his own ability to handle things.  He could take on some extra responsibilities for a while, just until Dean worked out all the emotional stuff about his dad.  As long as Cas kept him from affecting others with his actions, it would be okay.  Dean would come back to him; he just needed time.  Cas would be loyal to his friend. 

“So Dad’s friend is kicking him out,” Dean said one morning in March as he fumbled with the sugar packets for his coffee.  Sam, who’d stayed the night before so he could get to his early class, glared at him across the table.  He was angry with his brother and didn’t want to hear anything about his father.  Cas waited patiently for Dean to drop whatever bomb he was going to drop.  “And, uh, he’s got nowhere to go.”

“Not our problem, Dean,” Sam growled.  “There are homeless shelters.”

“That’s not right, Sam.  He’s our father…”

“He lost that fucking right a long time ago!”  Sam yelled. 

“Sam, we’re grown up…”

“I don’t give a shit!”

“It would be temporary…”

“No!  No.  I have a life now, Dean.  A good one.  I have school, I have a place with you guys, I have friends, and I have a family, a family that includes parents who don’t beat the crap out of me or my brother.  No.  He’s out of my life, and I don’t want him anywhere near me.  And you shouldn’t let him anywhere near you.”

“He’s got no one else!”

“And whose fault is that?”  At Dean’s silence, Sam continued, “Yeah, exactly.  It’s his fault.  And if you don’t cut the shit, you’re gonna end up just like him, Dean.”  Sam rattled the table with his legs as he grabbed his messenger bag and stood abruptly, slamming the door as he left the apartment.

Dean turned mournfully toward Cas.  “You get it, don’t you?  I can’t make him go to a shelter.”  Cas pursed his lips but said nothing.  “What, you too?  You’d kick your own father to the curb?”

“No, I wouldn’t kick my own father to the curb,” Cas answered quietly.  “I would offer him help.  Rehab.  If he was unwilling, then he’d have to live with the consequences of that.  I would not have him in my home if he’s not willing to fight for himself, for his own health.  Alcoholism is a family disease, Dean.  I’m not willing to not take care of myself.”

“Cas, that’s bullshit.  You wouldn’t kick your father out.”

“We did kick my father out.”

This gave Dean pause.  “Seriously?  You did that to your family?”

“My mother did.  Dean, look at it this way.  It’s an illness.  We were trying to provide him with the treatment.  The treatment is rehab.”

“You abandoned him.”

“ _No_.  No, we loved him but we were unwilling to be ill.  Don’t you get it?  We had to keep ourselves healthy.  If we got sick, we couldn’t help him when he finally agreed to swallow the medicine.”

“That sounds like a way to avoid feeling bad about kicking him out.”

The anger welling in Cas’ core and the stress of the last several weeks made him stand and lean over the table to speak to Dean.  He pointed an indignant finger as he spoke.  “It nearly killed my mother to do that.  It felt horrible to kick him out, Dean, but it would’ve felt a whole lot fucking worse to provide him the means to kill himself.  Here, have another cocktail, Dad!  Hey, just go ahead and have the whole bottle!  Sure, Mom would love to pretend to have a drink with you so she can keep an eye on your ass!  And yeah, you can have a place to crash.  Wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable while you’re wasted and ruining our lives!  Wouldn’t want you to be out in the rain like we were when your drunk ass forgot to pick us up.  Wouldn’t want you to remember you have a wife and two kids to support!”  Dean winced at the hurt he heard under Cas’ angry tone.  “The only reason – the  _only_  reason, Dean – that our family made it through intact is because my father finally took his medicine.  And yeah, it was a hard pill to swallow, for all of us.  We all needed treatment.  We had to pour our guts out to strangers and lay all our shit on the table for the world to see.  The  _world_ , Dean.  The media had a fuckin’ field day.  But we worked hard, really fucking hard.  It was almost harder than all the drinking.  But it was worth it.  My dad was worth fighting for, and we fought for him, but no one could make him do anything.  He had to figure out he was worth it and we were worth it and make that choice.  He always had a choice.  We all do.  Even you.”

Dean felt the sincerity, the pain still in Cas’ voice though it had been a few years.  Still, he stood to meet Cas eye-to-eye.  “He’s family.”

“So are we.”

“But he’s blood, Cas.”

“Fine.  Then go make your blood sacrifice.  But you can’t make it here.  This will be Sam’s home soon, and it’s my home too.  It should be a safe place.  I don’t want to be around drinking, and even if Sam didn’t mind, I wouldn’t want him to be around someone who hurt him.  Hell, I don’t want you to be around him, either.  I see what you’re becoming when you’re around him, and it kills me, Dean, but we all have choices.  Sam’s choosing to stay away from his biological father, and I support him in that.”

Dean felt his blood boil.  “And what am I becoming?”

“You’re becoming someone you’re not.  You’re becoming closed off, distant, and secretive, and you’re doing that self-loathing thing again.  You’re drinking more heavily than I’ve ever seen you drink.  You’re starting to sound like shit at practices, when you show up.  You’re just so pissed off all the time.  We haven’t even been… intimate in weeks.”

Dean was desperate to deflect the guilt he felt.  “You mean we haven’t fucked, Cas?  ‘Cause that’s what it is.  Just sex.”  Even as he said it, he knew it was a horrible lie.

Cas flinched.  “Yes, we haven’t fucked, whatever, Dean.  Don’t be a dick.”

“Is that why this is a big deal to you?  Are you pissed because we haven’t been fucking?  ‘Cause I thought that was just for fun, not some sort of fuckin’ obligation.”

 “It’s not a… huh, no, you are deflecting and I’m not doing this.  One has nothing to do with the other, and if you don’t want to do that anymore, we don’t.”  Cas closed his eyes against the tightness in his throat as he said, “But I miss my best friend.”

Dean’s chest deflated and he stared down at the table to avoid Cas’ shining eyes.  “I’m still me, Cas, but I have to take care of him.  No one else is gonna do it.”

“You’re right, Dean, no one else is.  Not even him.”  Cas gathered his coffee and his empty plate and walked into the kitchen.  He picked up a brush and started scrubbing the dishes before loading them into the dishwasher.

Dean’s normally boisterous voice was subdued as he picked up his own untouched food and half-finished coffee.  “I have some things to do today.  I’ll see you at practice later.”

 “Yeah.  Sure,” Cas said without looking up. 

Dean hovered near the sink after giving Castiel his dishes.  “I’m sorry, Cas.”

“Yeah.  You always are.”

Dean had no answer to that, so he pulled on the jeans and t-shirt he wore the day before and hurried out the door.

It was getting to him, but he could manage it, he told himself as he drove toward his father’s friend’s house.  Dad just needed a stable place to live, away from the stress of living in a place where he was no longer welcome.  Then he’d be able to get a job, and Dean could get back to his own life, fix things with Cas and the others.  Working always made Dad happier.  He told Dean he’d even get off the sauce when he wasn’t so stressed.  Dean could understand turning to alcohol when he was stressed. 

His father was treating him like an equal now, almost.  “Just have a drink with me, son,” he’d say.  They’d hang out at his friend’s house, since his friend was a long haul trucker and wasn’t around all that much (he was kicking him out because his neighbors were complaining about John’s behavior).  They drank some, but not as much as everyone seemed to think.  His dad had even confided a few things in him.  Sometimes, though, he ran at the mouth about how Dean should find himself “a nice girl or at least some nice T & A” and about how gay marriage was going to ruin this country.  Sometimes, he talked about how “bratty” Dean and Sam had been and how “that little ingrate doesn’t even return my calls” and how “you two should be grateful I didn’t let you get away with anything.”  Sometimes, he accused Dean of thinking he’s better than his father because “you’re in some stupid band that got lucky because of all the bleeding heart, free love idiots who like drugged-out, pansy-assed singers.”  Sometimes, he said awful things about Dean that Dean didn’t want to even think about.  Sometimes, he talked about “that no-good fag friend of yours who punched me and his asshole parents who raised a fucking queer, didn’t even know how to set him straight.”  All of those times, Dean didn’t say a word.  All of those times, he just wanted to stop hurting and forget what a chicken shit he was for not standing up for his family and friends and himself.  All of those times, Dean drank until he couldn’t hear his father anymore.  His father was very loud, even when he was only talking in Dean’s head.

“Hey son.  Let’s get going,” his father commanded.  Dean hadn’t even realized he’d arrived.  He couldn’t explain the hold his father had on him to Cas, or to Sam, or to anyone.  Like a weed, no matter how many times he mowed it down, it just kept coming back and choking out the healthy growth. 

Dean drove up to an apartment complex in Hoboken that had immediate openings (probably because it was a shithole).  Dean flashed them first and last month’s rent in cash and they skipped the background and credit checks and gave his father a key, saying that he looked like “a fine, responsible man.”  Dean rolled his eyes so hard he thought he might get whiplash.  They went to a secondhand furniture store and arranged for delivery of a bed, nightstand, couch, and a small table and two chairs.  They stopped at Wal-Mart and bought a small TV and some odds and ends they couldn’t get at the local Salvation Army store.  By the end of the day his father was set up in his little one bedroom apartment.  He bought them a pizza and a case of beer (it was just going to be a six-pack but John insisted on having a “celebration”) and they ate and watched stolen cable on John’s new TV.  It was 8:28 before Dean realized he forgot about their 7:00 p.m. practice.  No one had called or texted him to see if he was coming, but he did miss a text at 7:25 telling him there was a band meeting right now and he could call in to attend.  He sighed and resigned himself to their wrath, knowing full well he deserved it, and grabbed another beer until he forgot about it all.  

 

***

 

At 7:20, Ash said what everyone already knew.  “He’s not coming, Cas,” he said gently.

Cas shrugged, picked up his guitar, and started pounding out the first single off their new album, ignoring the sympathetic stares of his friends. 

Charlie stood in front of him, hands on her hips, and yelled to be heard above the searing chords.  “You can’t just ignore this!  You have to talk to us!”  He ignored her anyway, closing his eyes and allowing his fingers to do his thinking for him.  His head was too tired to think anymore.  Benny approached him and placed a large hand on the fretboard.  Cas opened his eyes and scowled. 

“Band meeting.  Now, Cas.” 

Castiel allowed Benny to take his guitar and guide him to the couch. 

“He’s staying in the band,” Cas declared as they sat.

“No one wants to kick him out, man, but we need to be able to rely on him,” Ash said as he leaned forward to capture Cas’ attention.

“I will speak to him.  We’ll give him a leave of absence if we have to.  We can do the tour on our own if need be.”

“Our contract…”

“I don’t give a  _fuck_  about our contract, Ash,” Cas snarled.  “We are family first.  He has some things to work out, but he’ll come around.  He’s stressed out about his father, and he’s been fighting with Sam.  He’s just getting overwhelmed…”

Benny laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.  “You’re making excuses, brother.”  Cas wheeled on him, ready to defend himself and Dean, but Benny’s face was kind and empathic.  He knew.  It would’ve sounded empty or accusatory from Charlie or Ash, no matter their intentions, but from Benny it had the ring of truth.  Benny turned him to face him squarely, and placed both of his thick hands on Cas’ shoulders, kneading them softly.  “Come stay at our place tonight, alright?  You could use a change from your four walls.”  Cas noticed he didn’t say that Cas could use a night away from his and Dean’s shared living space, from their shared bed, and he was grateful.  “And hey, we haven’t watched bad sci-fi and eaten our weight in candy in a long time.  I think we’re due.”  Cas smiled and agreed. 

 

***

 

Dean’s descent into Hell was predictable enough.

A few days after their fight, Sam told Becky and Carver that he was spending the night at a friend’s house.  He left out that he decided to get wasted at a party his friend Ruby was hosting.  It was an aspect of college life he hadn’t experienced yet, and he wanted to see what the big deal was.  Frankly, he was hoping to forget the shitstorm his father brought into their lives.  He quickly learned alcohol wasn’t the answer.  It just made him sick and mopey and guilt-ridden.

 

_To Dean 12:47 a.m:. Can you come pick me up im at a party_

He should’ve texted Cas and he knew it, but he was underage and drunk and didn’t want to upset Cas any more than he already was.  Just as he began to muse that maybe he should text him anyway, Dean responded.

 

_To Sam 12:49 a.m.: Gimme the address_

Sam gave him the address and waited in the chill of the damp March air. 

Half an hour later, Sam heard the growl of the Impala as it pulled alongside him.  He stumbled in and slammed the door behind him.  Dean didn’t bitch at him for it.  Dean had already pulled away from the curb when Sam noticed.

“Aw, shit, you’ve been drinking too.  You should’ve fucking told me.”

“Ain’t that like the kettle calling the pot black or something?” Dean mumbled.

“Dude, stop.  You can’t drive and neither can I, and I can’t go back home, Becky and Carver will kill me.  Call Cas.”

“I’m fine. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.  I have a high tolerance and most of it was earlier.  I’ll bring you to our place, but I’m not calling Cas.”

“Is he at home?”

“I don’t know.  He was when I left earlier tonight.” 

“Where have you been?”

“Dad’s.”

Sam huffed.  “Why?  I thought you were just setting him up and you were done.”

“He was lonely.”

“Who cares?”

Dean said nothing.  He swerved a little and slapped at his face to wake himself up. 

Sam licked his lips nervously.  “Dean, c’mon.  Pull over and I’ll call Cas.”

“Do  _not_  call Cas, Sam!  Haven’t I fucked up enough with him?”  Dean swiped at his eyes.  Sam said nothing but texted Cas:

 

_To Cas 1:31 a.m:.  Hey im on my way to ur place_

_To Sam 1:32 a.m:.  Okay, no problem.  Mom told me you were spending the night at a friend’s house.  Is everything okay?_

_To Cas 1:34 a.m.:  Yeah uh I drank and I dont feel good im sorry_

_To Sam 1:35 a.m.:  It’s okay, Sam.  Just come home safely and we’ll talk about it in the morning.  Well, later in the morning._

Dean and Sam walked into the apartment, greeted by Cas in his fleece sleep pants and a gray long-sleeved t-shirt.  Dean loved cuddling with Cas when he wore that t-shirt; it was soft and worn and somehow smelled like Cas more than some of his other shirts.  Cas’ attention was on Sam, who looked bedraggled and sorrowful.  He pulled the 17-year-old into a hug.  Sam mumbled an apology into his hair, and Cas patted his back before separating from him and gesturing to a bottle of water on the counter.  “Drink up,” he said.  “You’re going to need it.”  Castiel turned his attention to Dean to thank him for picking up Sam and to guide him to their room.  He was hopeful that maybe they could spend a little time together.  He missed him so much.  When he saw Dean’s glazed eyes and slackened face, he froze in horror.

In a shaky voice, Cas ground out, “Dean, did you drive your brother home while under the influence of alcohol?”

Dean began to panic at Cas’ voice, at once shaky and eerily calm, like the air before a hurricane.  “Cas…”

“No lies, no excuses Dean,” he growled.  “It’s simple.  Were you or were you not drinking, and then did you or did you not operate a vehicle after drinking and drive your brother home, endangering not only yourself but Sam and anyone else on the road?”

The weight of what he’d done hit Dean hard.  He didn’t care about himself, but he’d put Sammy and other people at risk.  He’d had a lot that day and knew he was too exhausted to drive and maybe still a little tipsy (with the fatigue, he really wasn’t sure, and all his hours blended together now so he couldn’t remember when his last drink was), but Sammy needed him and he didn’t think.  It was the wrong thing to do.  Of course, what came out of his mouth was, “It turned out fine, Cas, relax.” 

Castiel’s carefully-constructed turret of denial exploded.  “You fucking asshole!” he screamed, not caring how many neighbors complained.  “You could’ve  _killed_  Sam!  Or someone else!  Or yourself!  You fucking son of an asshole bastard!  What the fuck?   _What in the actual fuck_?” 

“Just listen for a damn minute!”

“Unless you’re gonna tell me you’re going to rehab, I don’t want to hear a word from you.  Everything else is excuses.”

“I’m probably not even legally drunk, Cas!”

“Oh, that’s comforting.  Tell me, what amount of drunk is acceptable to drive your brother home?  Huh?  If you attended his funeral, would you have consoled yourself by saying you weren’t that drunk?  Don’t be stupid!”

“I’m sorry!  I’m under a lot of pressure, I didn’t think…”

“You damn well ought to be sorry, and you sure as hell didn’t think!  We’re all under pressure, Dean, and a lot of yours is self-inflicted.  Break ties with your asshole father and be your own man!”

“He’s my blood, Cas!”

“You weren’t thinking about your blood when you drove Sam home.  His blood could’ve been all over the seat of that damn car!”

“But it wasn’t, Cas!  I handled it!”

“That’s not… the fucking… point!”  Cas yelled through clenched teeth.  “You could’ve killed someone, or yourself!  That’s not a risk you take!”

“I’m sorry!”

“And it’s bad enough you’re already killing yourself slowly as it is!”   

“So what?  Who gives a fuck if I do?”

“ _I_  give a fuck, jackass!   _I do_!  Sam does!  Our friends do!  My parents do, and Charlie’s and Benny’s and Ash’s do!  My brother!  Bobby and Jody!  So many people give a fuck, Dean!”

Dean felt his muddied brain spiral into self-denigration.  “I’m not worth it, Cas!”

Cas inhaled deeply and folded his arms.  “Okay, John,” he sneered, his fury at his best friend’s father bleeding through.

“I have no self-control…”

“Okay, John.”

“I’m selfish and ungrateful…”

“Yeah, uh-huh, okay John…”

“I’m a fuckin’ sorry excuse for a man…”

“Yes, John.”

“Why the fuck do you keep saying that?”

“Because that’s all him, Dean!  That’s all the poison your father’s filled your head with!”

“No, Cas!  All he’s ever done is tell me who I really am, and eventually I’ll prove it to you!  I’ll prove to you how much of a pussy I am!”

“A pussy?  Please.”  Castiel stepped into Dean’s space and regarded him with steely eyes.  “You know what pussies are, Dean?  They’re strong.  Complex.  Accepting.  Able to stretch way beyond their usual boundaries.  Full of life.  And they love it when I touch them.”  He exhaled softly as he tilted his head and squinted at Dean.  “Hmm.  Maybe John was right.  Maybe you are a pussy.  At least by my definition.”

The fight drained out of Dean at the unusual phrasing of… praise?  Calling him strong and complex and shit, fuck him, damn it.  Shame and exhaustion and grief flooded in to replace it, and he leaned on the wall for support as he looked away.  “Fuck you, Cas,” he murmured. 

Cas ignored the statement.  “I won’t stand by and watch alcohol and parental abuse kidnap and torture my best friend,” Cas growled.  He carded long fingers through Dean’s sweaty, matted hair, and Dean wanted to cry at the delicate touch, a stark contrast to the anger he still heard in Castiel’s voice.  “That’s what’s happening here.  This isn’t you. Please fight this with me.  Please, Dean.” 

“You’re wrong, Cas,” he sputtered angrily, desperately trying not to believe all the good Cas was saying or to give in to his compulsion to grab onto the man and never let go.  “This is me.  And the sooner you accept that I’m a fuck-up, the better for both of us.  I’m not doing this anymore.”  He shouldered Cas aside and slammed into their shared bedroom. 

Castiel breathed deeply to steady his jangled nerves.  Rather than chase Dean, he stopped at Sam’s room and knocked, entering when he heard Sam’s voice.

“Hey, man,” Cas said tiredly as he sat on the edge of the mattress.  “Sorry you had to hear that.”

Sam shook his head.  “It’s okay,” Sam replied.  “It needed to be said.  I’m sorry, Cas.  I’m sorry for all of this.  I shouldn’t have gotten drunk, I shouldn’t have called Dean…”

“Hey, it’s done.  We all fuck up.  All of this just scared me to death, Sam.  I don’t want to lose either one of you.”

Sam reached out and pulled Cas into a hug.  “I know.  I’m sorry.  I won’t do it again.” 

“Probably not, because my parents will ground you until you turn 18,” he said with a fond squeeze of Sam’s shoulders.  He pulled away from the embrace.  “Get some sleep.  We’ll talk more later.”

Sam settled down into his bed and Cas closed the door.  He flopped onto the couch and stared into the dark until sleep overtook him.  When he woke up, Dean was gone. 


	12. Chapter 12

_June-August 2015_

“Don’t Tell Me,” the first single off the new album, was released in early May, and Dean was both elated and depressed about it.  He loved the sexy, bluesy bass-filled number about the pros and cons of being in a friends-with-benefits situation (not their experience, of course, since the song was about falling in love with the person you’d intended to just have a fling with), and he was elated because Cas completely owned that song, the deep, sultry rumble Dean was too familiar with slithering through his veins.  He was depressed, though, because he was supposed to sing it, and he dropped the ball, too shitfaced at the studio that day to sing lead.  He could clearly hear his voice in the background, and it sounded good – Mac and Sylk had definitely performed some magic there, and thank God the others were singing too – but it wasn’t where he was supposed to be.  The album turned out great, and Dean listened to it constantly.  When he let himself feel anything, he missed being with them. 

When Dean had crawled with his tail between his legs into his father’s apartment the morning after “the incident,” as Dean called it, his father welcomed him with open arms and told him he was right to “come home” and he was welcome any time.  (Dean didn’t bother to point out that he paid for the apartment, so technically he could be there any time.)  He read but didn’t respond to text messages and voice mails from Sam, the band, and Cas’ parents and brother.  Bobby even called him once and simply left a message saying, “Don’t be an idjit, go work things out.” Most of the messages were like that –  _we love you, we want to help, we miss you, call us._   Cas sent him one text telling him he was still in the band and would be receiving everything he normally would, including tour and practice schedules.  His voice mails were mixed, but usually pleaded with Dean to fight this and to let Cas help him, and that Cas would be there for him when he was ready.  Dean was so ashamed and so disappointed in himself for all of his behavior that he couldn’t bear Cas’ kindness and sincerity.  He felt that Cas should be angry with him, because that’s what he deserved, so he resolved to piss him off instead.  Over the next few weeks after the incident, Dean eventually answered the texts and voice mails the others had sent him, just to assure them that he was okay (although he wasn’t), but not Cas’.  It was stupid, he knew, and somewhere in the back of his mind he hoped Cas saw past his bullshit and didn’t fall for it, that he knew what game Dean was playing.  The final voice mail from Cas was an angry one, telling him he could’ve just told him he didn’t want to be part of Cas’ life anymore rather than the passive-aggressive bullshit of returning everyone else’s messages but his.  For all that Dean wanted to push Cas away from the oncoming train that was rapidly becoming Dean’s life, his heart broke when he finally managed to do it.  He knew Cas wanted to pull him off the tracks to safety, but Dean felt he deserved to be flattened on them.   He told his father about it when he was feeling buzzed and sorrowful, hoping that his father would have his best interest at heart for once and tell him that he should go back and try to fix everything.  Instead, his father took his side and said they were the ones who were being idiots, Cas in particular.  Dean drank until the days all blended. 

Now it was the last day of June, and the tour had started without him.  Dean had the tour schedule in his phone, since Charlie texted it to him (true to Castiel’s word, Dean was included on everything related to the band).  He Googled the band and found some articles about how the first couple of weeks of the tour was going:

 

**Daring, Energetic Performances Mark MTC’s First Headline Tour**

**The Show Must Go On:  MTC Perseveres Despite Co-Singer’s Absence**

**Is the Crush Over?**

The last article title caught Dean’s attention.  It was written by their friend Cesar Cuevas, and he read on.

 

 _No one could argue that the first shows in Mixtape for My Teenage Crush’s headlining tour have been boring.  The band’s usual energy and spunk are turned up to eleven by the plucky basswork of Ash Harvelle, the eclectic stylings of pianist/guitarist Charlie Bradbury, and the pulsing beat provided by drummer Benny Lafitte.  Frontman Castiel Edlund-Rosen keeps the crowd on its feet all night long, pouring on the charm when he speaks to the audience and grinding through song after song with a sexy, frenetic punch to the gut and tickle to the nether regions.  But for those who know the band intimately, the shows feel_ too  _frenzied,_ too  _good.  Edlund-Rosen has announced at each show that their co-frontman Dean Winchester is attending to some “personal and family matters” and asks the crowd to send him positive thoughts before they launch into “The Ties that Bind (and Strangle),” which Edlund-Rosen performs with skill and gusto despite the fact that Winchester usually runs lead for that particular song._

_It seems like a tactical choice.  Longtime fans of the band know that, to understand the band, you need to understand Edlund-Rosen, who started the band and is its soul._

_“He’s very deliberate in what he does in a show,” Winchester once commented to this writer about his bandmate.  “He looks like he’s making it up as he goes along, but his brilliance is in being able to read a situation and adjust accordingly.  He rarely makes decisions on stage that he hasn’t thought through.”_

_So the fact that he’s choosing a song about the pain of family problems and having to make a deliberate choice about the path one will follow (as in Robert Frost’s famous poem) right after talking about Winchester has fans wondering:  Is Edlund-Rosen saying something about himself, or perhaps about Winchester?  Perhaps the façade is cracking just a bit, letting fans peek into the heart of the otherwise very self-protective vocalist._

_Further evidence of this is in the cover songs the band has been playing.  Each performance, Edlund-Rosen chooses a song to cover.  Fans have long speculated that these choices are a reflection of his mood.  He’s never confirmed or denied it, but he has said that he enjoys singing covers because “I think it honors the songwriter and the artist to acknowledge the power their words and music have had on my life.  When someone else has expressed something beautifully enough for me to identify with it, I think that’s a connection that’s worthy of sharing.  It’s those kinds of connections that keep the human race human.”  A YouTube channel,_ Mixtape Covers _, has chronicled these covers over the band’s history and, indeed, the covers on this tour seem to have an angry, mournful, or hurt edge to them…_

Dean skimmed through the next section, which talked about the covers he’d done so far and the meanings behind the songs, and began reading again when it came back to Cas himself.

 

_While everyone who attends a Mixtape for My Teenage Crush show is guaranteed to have a good time (they’ll make sure of it), we wonder whether Edlund-Rosen himself is having a good time.  Without Winchester, it seems like he’s missing his right arm… and maybe a part of his heart._

Dean couldn’t read after that.  He closed the article and went to the YouTube channel mentioned in the article.  He watched each clip, starting with the oldest:

 

**“The Show Must Go On,” Atlanta, 6.19.15**

**“Bodies,” Tallahassee, 6.21.15**

**“Paint It Black,” Orlando, 6.22.15**

**“So What,” Miami, 6.24.15**

**“Under Pressure,” Dallas, 6.27.15**

**“I Will Survive,” Houston, 6.29.15**

Dean had to admit they were pretty dark, which meant Cas was in a pretty dark place in his mind.  He hated himself for being the cause of it. 

They were playing in Santa Fe tonight.  Dean decided he deserved the torture, so he subscribed to the  _Mixtape Covers_  channel and bookmarked both that page and the band’s own YouTube page, which usually posted their performances the next day.  Knowing that Cas was angry at him felt like a fitting punishment.  He resolved to check it at least a couple of times a week, just to remind himself of what he’d done.

 

***

 

**“In the End,” Santa Fe, 6.30.15**

“So so what, I’m still a rock star, I got my rock moves, and I don’t need you, and guess what?  I’m having more fun, and now that we’re done, I’m gonna show you tonight, I’m all right, I’m just fine, and you’re a tool, sooo…”

“Are you singing that tonight, Cas?” Benny asked as he stepped into the dressing space.

Castiel turned away from the mirror, where he’d been singing to himself as he styled his hair. 

“Nah, I sang that already.  I’m thinking ‘In the End’ for tonight.” 

“Hmm.  Alright.”  He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms.

Cas stared at him.  “Something else on your mind?”

Benny shook his head.  “Man, I just think you need to start talking to Hannah again.”

“On tour here, Ben,” Cas dismissed with a wave as he turned back to the mirror.  “Think I should shave?”

“Considerin’ you got about a month’s worth of growth there, I don’t see the point.  May as well go for the whole ZZ Top vibe.  Now stop avoiding what I said.”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, that’s what you say every time.  This thing with Dean….”

“Fuck off, Ben.”

“Yeah, maybe later.  Can’t fool someone who’s been there, Cas.”

Cas closed his eyes and braced himself on the small dressing table.  “I love you, Ben.  Thank you for your concern.  But you haven’t been there.  Not like this.”  He rubbed his face and plastered on a smile before heading out to sound check.

 

**“Complicated,” Phoenix, 7.3.15**

 “Cas, just talk to Hannah.”

“No.”

 

**“Everything Sux,” Las Vegas, 7.6.15**

“Wow, aren’t you just a basket of kittens.”

“Bite me.”

 

**“The Kill (Bury Me),” Los Angeles, 7.13.15**

“Cas, get some sleep.  I can’t sleep when you’re up pacing all night.”

 

**“Last Resort,” San Francisco, 7.17.15**

“We’re just worried about you, Cassie.”

“No need, Gabe.  I’m fine.  Thanks for calling, though.”

 

**“Dancing Queen,” Portland, 7.22.15**

“Thank you, Cas!  That was so awesome!  I love you!”

“It’s your birthday, Charlie.  I’m not a complete asshole.”

 

**“F*****g Hostile,” Denver, 7.27.15**

“Cas…”

“Don’t even say it.”

“Could you at least sing something a little more upbeat once in a while?”

 

**“It’s a Beautiful Day,” Kansas City, 8.4.15**

“Seriously?  A ‘fuck off’ breakup song?”

“But an upbeat ‘fuck off’ breakup song.”

“Why are you singing breakup songs?”

“It’s not my fault most of the fuck off songs out there are breakup songs.”

 

**“Call Me When You’re Sober,” Chicago, 8.8.15**

“I was wondering when he’d get to that one.”

 

**“Take Me Out,” Cincinnati, 8.14.15**

“Please just talk to us.  We love you.”

 

**“I’m Not Okay (I Promise),” Philadelphia, 8.20.15**

“Cas…”

“Just… please.  Don’t.  I can’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs referenced in this chapter:  
> The Show Must Go On by Queen  
> Bodies by Drowning Pool  
> Paint It Black by the Rolling Stones  
> So What by Pink  
> Under Pressure by Queen and David Bowie  
> I Will Survive by Gloria Gaynor  
> In the End by Linkin Park  
> Complicated by Avril Lavigne  
> Everything Sux by Descendents  
> The Kill (Bury Me) by Thirty Seconds to Mars  
> Last Resort by Papa Roach  
> Dancing Queen by Abba  
> F*****g Hostile by Pantera  
> It’s a Beautiful Day by Michael Bublé  
> Call Me When You’re Sober by Evanescence  
> Take Me Out by Franz Ferdinand  
> I’m Not Okay (I Promise) by My Chemical Romance


	13. Chapter 13

_August 2015_

It was a huge performance, their first time performing at an awards show, and the MTV Video Music Awards was a biggie.  No one could get excited for it, though, because a Castiel-shaped cloud hung over Madison Square Garden.

“Can’t believe he’s staying at a hotel instead of going back to the apartment,” Benny said as he shook his head.  They had gathered for breakfast at Ash and Benny’s place. 

“We need a Rannygazoo,” Ash said quietly.  “Or an intervention.  Something.”

“He’s hurting so bad.  I feel so helpless, you guys,” Charlie moaned.  “What we gotta do is break through the anger shit.  How can we do that?”

“Got me, sister,” Benny answered.  “I’ve tried coming from the friend angle, from the bandmate angle, even from the child of an alcoholic angle.  He isn’t talking.”

“I know,” Charlie said as she rested her hand atop Benny’s.  Ash bumped his shoulder in support.  “I just wish I understood it the way he needs.  I’ve never been in that situation.”

“I have and he’s still not listening,” Benny moped.  “He actually told me once that I haven’t been there, like he forgot we went through the same thing with our dads.”

After sitting a while in silence, Charlie said, “Remember when life was simple?  Remember when your biggest hurt in the world was a scraped knee and you’d go see your mom, and she knew just what to do?”

Ash and Benny smiled and stared at their meals, lost in warm memories of simpler times.   

“Holy shit, you guys,” Charlie said suddenly and smacked them both on the arms.  “He needs someone who’s been there, in the same spot as he is now!  Why didn’t we think of this?”  The men looked at her with bewilderment.  “I know what we have to do.”

A rapid succession of knocks rattled Castiel’s nerves and interrupted the noise of the TV, which he wasn’t paying much attention to anyway.  He sighed and dragged himself off the bed, covers trailing behind him and dropping to the floor as he padded to the door in bare feet. 

“Mom, hey,” he said in a raspy voice, evidence of one too many sleepless nights.  “And everyone,” he said warily as he spied Charlie, Benny, Ash, Gabe, and Sam behind her.  He turned back to his mother.  “I thought we were gonna do lunch tomorrow?”

“This couldn’t wait,” she said as she took his hand and led him to one of the two beds in the room.  The others piled onto the other bed or stood.  Castiel expected some comment from her about his scruffy beard or his tired eyes, but instead she said, “It’s time to be honest, honey.”

“About…?”

“Come here.”  She waved at him to lean his head on her shoulder, and he did so dutifully as she wrapped an arm around him and took his hand.  “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Castiel, you’re not fooling me.  Talk to me, sweet pea.”

“Mom, I’m a grown man.  Stop babying me.  If this is about Dean, I’m fine.”  He tried to squirm out of her grasp, but she held firm and started humming.  “Not that song, mom, jeez,” he grumbled but stayed still.  She continued to hum as he relaxed into her touch.

“I’ve missed you, baby,” she said as she kissed his head. 

“Missed you too, mom,” he said in a strained voice as he squeezed her hand. 

After a few minutes of sitting quietly, only her soft humming filling the room, Becky said, “You know, honey, I was so angry with your father for so long.  It felt like he loved the alcohol more than me, more than you boys.  But really it was more like Stockholm Syndrome.  Alcohol was keeping him captive and he thought he loved it, when what he loved was not feeling all of his insecurities.  And you know, it didn’t help, sweet pea.  It didn’t help me to be angry.  I thought I was keeping it together by denying my pain; I thought I was being strong for you boys.  But it just made it that much harder to heal.  You can’t heal until you feel, remember that from therapy?” She smiled and squeezed his shoulder, and he squeezed her hand again in acknowledgement.  “When I stopped being angry at him, I was able to start getting better.  I was able to remember how much I loved him.”

Castiel hid his eyes as he started shaking next to her, and she wrapped both of her arms around him and held him tightly.  She caressed the hair at the nape of his neck as he quivered and curled into her.

“Don’t, mom,” Cas begged in a whisper.  He felt the tears pushing for release as he clung to her cotton tank top.  “Please.  I’m just barely keeping it together.”

“I’ll keep you together, honey.  Just let go.  I understand.” 

“I don’t want to… It hurts…”

“Of course it does, honey.  That’s why there are so many songs written about lost love and broken hearts.”

“Mom… Mom we’re not… it’s not…” he strained against the lump in his throat.

“Castiel,” she cooed, “baby, I know exactly what it is.”

Castiel burst.  Huge sobs wracked his body as months, even years of pain, of restraint, of denial poured and splashed violently around him.  His mother held and rocked him, as she’d done so many times over the years.  She ran her fingers through his unkempt hair as he crawled into her lap and wrapped himself around her like he did as a young boy, when she nicknamed him Koala.  She had always been his emotional center, his calm in the storm.  It was why he didn’t seek her out all these months.  He had yearned to be angry, to protect himself (falsely) from pain.

After several minutes, he leaned on her shoulder and said through stuttered breaths, “Why does it hurt so much?”

She laid a gentle hand on his face. “Because when you love someone, you feel their pain, too.  And I think you’re both hurting pretty badly, baby.”

Only the sniffles of those gathered in the small hotel room disturbed the quiet that followed.

“I love him, Mom,” he admitted through a fresh wave of tears, and though it hurt, it felt so good to say it out loud.  “I love him.  I love him so much.  God, it hurts how much I love him.”

Becky thumbed the tears from his impossibly blue eyes.  “I know, baby.”

 

***

 

Dean was tired, the bone-weary kind of tired that didn’t go away no matter how much sleep he got.  He dragged around the apartment while he waited for the MTV Video Music Awards to start.  They were in New York, just over the damn river.  Everyone he loved was so close by, yet so far away.  He missed them desperately. 

He felt nothing anymore, not even obligation, for the man he assumed was getting plastered at the bar a couple of blocks over.  Months of living with him confirmed that, no matter what Dean had hoped or what John had promised, John wasn’t going to change.  The last straw with his father was just that morning.  His father said the same shit he always did, but this time – maybe it was fate or divine intervention or because it was a sunny day or because he was wearing the t-shirt he stole from Cas before he left – the words fell differently on his ears, no longer rang with truth.  He had grabbed his own forearm and pretended it was Cas’ thumb soothing him instead of his own and told his father to get the hell out. 

In the quiet that followed, Dean had thought about redemption.  During bus rides or just hanging out at his parents’ house, he and Cas used to have long talks about faith and redemption and hope.  Cas seemed to believe that everyone was worth at least trying to save.  He wondered if Cas would think that the broken shell sitting on a lumpy, stained couch in Hoboken would be worth saving now.  Dean thought maybe his father didn’t want to save himself, that maybe he had nothing he loved or wanted enough to change.  Dean had so much he loved, so many reasons to change.  He just didn’t know how to begin or who, if anyone, would be waiting for him if he did.  He was afraid, so afraid, that his secret fear had come true:  that he’d fucked up so bad that Cas wouldn’t want him in his life anymore.

Dean sat and watched performance after performance, speech after speech, stupid banter and shtick, just so he wouldn’t miss MTC.  He was so proud of them.  He desperately wished he could tell them that in person, but he felt so ashamed.

Finally, the band was announced and, as usual, they were on fire.  The rest of the band wore their usual stuff, but Cas, ever the comedian, went for a tux at the one awards show where it wasn’t needed.  The sleeves were rolled up, though, and the shirt and vest were unbuttoned, revealing the chest Dean had traced every inch of once upon a time.  He looked freshly shaven and his dark locks looked longer; they were pushed up and twisted over in some sort of messy pompadour.  Just like a wave.  Dean’s heart fluttered like it always did, and he smiled and shook his head at Cas’ choice of outfit and at the way he jumped onto the stage in a split.  They did a medley, starting with “Holler,” their rock anthem that had just been released and had already hit number one on iTunes.  The band was tight yet looked… looser, somehow, than their recent performances.  It wouldn’t have been obvious to others, but Dean could tell just by the looks on his friends’ faces.  They moved into “Don’t Tell Me” and then blended seamlessly into “Traffic.”  He assumed they’d end it there, but it looked like they were getting ready to go into one more when Cas faced the band and raised his hand in the air, swirling his index finger then quickly pulling his index and middle fingers together as if he was making an air quote.  It was Cas’ signal for “fade out and stop.”  It was a strange thing for him to be doing right now and it didn’t look planned, judging by his bandmates’ faces.  Dean turned up the volume and leaned forward to listen.  Castiel, sweating from exertion, stepped to the microphone and began to sing, a capella, a song Dean had never heard before.  His voice trembled but rang clearly in the silent arena:

 

_The knife twists in my brain_

_Can’t think, no I don’t wanna think anymore_

_My body betrays my will_

_And I think, and I bleed, and I melt into the floor_

_Your mind, infused with lies_

_Your soul, so bright yet sad_

_I ache, I burn and writhe_

_Your pain is the worst I’ve ever had_

Dean didn’t realize he’d moved to sit directly in front of the television, holding it on each side.  Cas’ voice sang the next verse forcefully, desperately, nearly screaming as his eyes welled up:

 

_And we’re drowning in our fears_

_And it’s worse than it appears_

_But I will not leave you here…_

Cas paused and held Iggy, the band’s hand signal, to his heart, then raised it to the audience briefly, who answered it with their own.  He dropped his hand flat against his heart once again and, looking into the camera, sang softly:

 

_No I will not leave you here…_

_I will not leave you here_

_So please don’t leave me here…_

Dean’s hands, now held to his face as if in prayer, trembled as Cas’ hand moved and made the sign for  _I love you_ as it lay over his heart.  He seemed to sing directly to Dean:

 

_Please don’t… leave… me…_

Through watery eyes, Dean watched Cas step away from the microphone, briefly looking into the camera and tapping his chest with the  _I love you_  sign before closing his eyes and dropping his tear-streaked face into his hands.  Their bandmates collected him in their arms and walked off the stage to a thunderous standing ovation that none of them seemed to notice.  Dean, having no one to collect him in their arms, wrapped his arms around himself and wept. 

 

***

 

He’d been able to tolerate it before MTC’s performance, but now that it was over the damn formalwear was itchy and constricting.  He much preferred his t-shirts and jeans.  He scratched and squirmed in his seat as he wiped his worried, still-damp eyes.  His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out to look at the display.  He did a double-take but answered right away.

“Hang on a sec, hold on,” he rasped into the phone before rushing to make his way to a quieter area.  He positioned himself away from prying or curious eyes.  “Dean?”

“Carver?” Dean responded.

“Hey, son.  It’s good to hear from you,” he said gently, and waited.

“I need help,” Dean’s voice cracked through the phone.  “Is your offer still open?”

“Always, Dean.  Pack a bag and be ready.  I’m leaving now.”

Carver Edlund-Rosen made some calls as his car was brought around for him.  He had prepared for this, in hopes that the young man he cared for like a son would eventually come around.  He knew that it had to be his decision.  No matter how much they all loved him, the choice to get better was Dean’s.  He sent up a prayer of thanks that Dean had made the decision, and another that he’d stick to it when things got difficult, which they would.  Facing the demons was always difficult.  It’s why most people stayed behind the cover of alcohol.

Dean was waiting outside when Carver arrived, one bag and a guitar case by his feet.  Carver stepped out of the car and embraced him until he felt Dean’s shame and embarrassment get pushed aside and Dean’s body relaxed.  Dean looked rough but sober.  He’d lost some muscle and his eyes were duller than they should have been, his usual liveliness dampened. 

Dean thought it might be strange to see Carver again.  He’d prepared himself for the sting of rebuke, the how-could-you-do-this-to-us, but it never came.  He was glad it was Carver.  After the performance, Dean let himself hope that Cas wanted him, was waiting for him, but he wasn’t quite ready to face Cas yet, too ashamed he’d let himself get this far gone before smartening up.  He settled into the newer-looking BMW and tried to quell his jangled nerves.  The coffee Carver offered him in a paper travel cup helped.  He wasn’t sure if it was because of the caffeine or because it gave his hands something to do.

“So,” Dean broke the silence after about thirty minutes, “how’ve you guys been?”

“Pretty good.”  Carver launched into details about what he and Becky had been doing recently, how Gabe had a new girlfriend and was just about to start classes again, and how Sam also was starting the new semester shortly and how he and his girlfriend were trying to manage a long-distance relationship now that she’d moved to a college several states away.  He shared what he knew about the tour and about how things were going.  Dean, in turn, told Carver about living with his father and how bad things got before he made the decision to stop drinking, that he’d been thinking about it for a while, and that he’d tried a couple of times but had only lasted until things became too hard with his father.  They talked about how Dean hadn’t had anything to drink that day. 

They fell into a thoughtful silence until, voice heavy with emotion, Dean said, “How is Cas?”

Carver breathed deeply in and out before he said, “Well, Dean, he’s a mess, to be honest.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Hey.  It’s not your job to fix him, and it’s not his to fix you.  You both have to take responsibility for your own health.  He didn’t want to talk to anyone, and he hid behind his anger and fear.”

Dean fidgeted with his hands.  “But I caused it.”  He sighed.  “I saw his performance tonight.”

“I hoped you would.  It was a good one.”

“It was.  Reminded me of my Cas.”  Dean shook his head and tried to explain.  “I mean, like, my Cas as in, uh, the Cas I’m used to.  All that angry stuff isn’t him.”

“I knew what you meant, Dean.”  He glanced warmly at Dean, enough for Dean to get the message.  Dean gave him a small smile and thumbed the plastic tab on his cup.

“Hey, could you not tell him about this yet?  Just for a couple of weeks.  I, uh… just feel like I gotta do this on my own first.  And, honestly, if I fail I don’t want him to know.”  Carver nodded sadly, knowingly, and said he wouldn’t let Cas know until Dean felt the time was right.  They talked about the process of drying out and what to expect at the residential treatment center in upstate New York before Dean fell asleep against the passenger door. 

“We’re here,” Carver said as he shook Dean awake hours later.  Dean stepped out of the car and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, then ran his fingers along his scalp to massage the headache forming there.  Cas used to do it for him.  It was much more pleasant and effective than doing it himself.

“Ready?” Carver asked as he clapped Dean on the shoulder.

Dean took a deep breath.  “Yeah.  I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs referenced in this chapter:  
> Untitled (Castiel’s Song) by the author


	14. Chapter 14

_September 2015 – October 2015_

**“This is How a Heart Breaks,” New York City, 9.5.15**

_This is all I can take_

_This is how a heart breaks_

_You take a hit now, you feel it break down_

_Make you stay wide awake_

_This is how a heart breaks_

**“What Hurts the Most,” Albany, 9.8.15**

_What hurts the most was being so close_

_And havin’ so much to say_

_And watchin’ you walk away_

**“The King of Wishful Thinking,” Buffalo, 9.10.15**

_You made a hole in my heart_

_And I’ll tell myself I’m over you_

_‘Cause I’m the king of wishful thinking_

**“Let It Be,” Hartford, 9.13.15**

_For though they may be parted there is still a chance that they will see_

_There will be an answer, let it be_

**“The Space Between,” Boston, 9.14.15**

_The space between_

_The wicked lies we tell_

_And hope to keep safe from the pain_

_Will I hold you again?_

**“Call and Answer,” Manchester, 9.16.15**

_So if you call, I will answer_

_And if you fall, I’ll pick you up_

_And if you court this disaster_

_I’ll point you home_

 

**“Jelly Roll,” Portland, 9.17.15**

_Love can break your heart_

_Only love can break your heart_

_I gave you all I had to give_

_No words can say how much I miss you_

***

_From Dad 10:07 a.m.:  You guys need to jump onto the band’s website.  Sorry I didn’t tell you about this.  Call me after you see it and I’ll explain everything._

It was too early for this cryptic shit, Cas thought as he downed his second cup of coffee in a diner near the Canadian border.  They had a show that night in Quebec City and he was starting to become road weary.  Usually, Castiel loved touring.  Seeing new things, meeting new people, bringing music to the masses was all very cool.  The last three weeks, though, had been draining.  Once he let go of the anger, all of his sadness rushed in to fill the spaces, and sadness was a different kind of exhausting than anger.  He missed Dean so much.

“Ash, got your Macbook nearby?  Apparently something’s been posted on our site that my dad wants us to see.”

“Weird.  Usually one of us does that.  Or Meg, sometimes.”

“What would our publicist post on the site that we don’t know about in advance?”

“Do I look like a psychic, Cas?”  Cas smirked and gave Ash the finger good-naturedly as he booted up his computer.  He navigated onto the site and turned it for everyone to see.  They stared, slack-jawed, for a full minute, trying to make sense of what they were seeing.  Finally, Charlie stated the obvious.

“Holy shit.  Dean posted a video on the site.”

Seeing Dean’s frozen face on the page made Castiel’s gut swell and pulse with anticipation.  He hadn’t seen him in so long, and there he was, still alive, still beautiful.  He was sitting in a room filled with sunshine, in a place Cas didn’t recognize.  Biting his bottom lip to stave off any embarrassing flood of emotion in the middle of the diner, he leaned over and started the video.

 

**Dean’s Video Therapy 9/23/15**

“Hi, everyone.  I’m Dean Winchester from the band Mixtape for My Teenage Crush… and I’m an alcoholic.”

Cas heard the gasps from his bandmates.  He didn’t gasp, because he wasn’t breathing.

“Um… so yeah.  I’ve been sober since August 30.  I’m in a rehab and actually I’m doing really well.  Nobody knew I was here except my best friend’s dad, who brought me.  I wanted to keep it quiet for now, you know, to make sure I could do this.  And, um, it’s been a little hard, um, really hard actually, but it’s that kind of hard that also feels good, like when you start training for a marathon or some shit.  It sucks at the beginning but if you stick with it and learn how to deal with the pain you kinda get into it after a while and it starts to feel better, like part of who you are.   So.  Um, well, they didn’t tell me I had to say the whole ‘I’m an alcoholic’ spiel but I thought it was important because… well, I used to deny it to myself and others, ‘cause sometimes I could drink without getting drunk.  But what I’m learning is that the alcohol has been a way to cope with some really bad shit that happened to me.  Which, you know, people tried to tell me.  It’s weird.  The alcohol wasn’t a big deal to give up, like I don’t miss the drink itself.  I miss how it let me not deal with stuff.  But it’s time to deal with stuff.  I have a lot to love about my life, and a lot of people who love me.  I want the good stuff back, minus the shitty way I dealt with the bad stuff.  This is gonna be part of my treatment.  I’m gonna post stuff here, hold myself accountable.  It’s a way to communicate with all of you.  So, yeah.  I’ll talk more soon.  See you guys.”

A few moments of silence descended upon booth 19 as they absorbed this new information.  Charlie, Ash, and Benny looked at each other and smiled, then looked at Cas, who was staring at the screen. 

“That’s fuckin’ great news, huh Cas?” Benny asked as he swatted Cas’ arm to get his attention.  Cas turned to his side and stared at him blankly.  “What’s the matter?”

Cas sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before he said, “I’m afraid to hope, Benny.”

Benny wrapped a muscled, tattooed arm around his longtime friend.  “Sometimes that’s all we got, brother.  You can choose to doubt, or you can choose to hope.  Whatever you choose, it’s gonna influence what you do next.  Choose well, man.”

 

**“If You’re Going through Hell,” Quebec City, 9.23.15**

_Yeah, if you’re going through Hell_

_Keep on going, face that fire_

_Walk right through it_

_You might get out_

_Before the devil even knows you’re there_

“Quebec City!  Hold up those hands and show Dean we’ve got him!  Yeah!  Dean, man, if you’re listening, we’ll be your angels.  Keep up the fight.  We know you can do it.  We love you and miss you.”

Castiel chose hope.

 

Dean posted videos almost daily, and at first they felt like torture.  He had so much therapy every day that it shouldn’t have been a big deal to talk more; in fact, it should’ve been easier since he was alone and since he usually did them first thing, before the rest of his day began.  What made the videos torturous, though, was the fact that he was baring his soul to everyone who had Internet access, and that made him feel raw and exposed, as he imagined Cas and his family had.  It had been his choice, though.  He wanted to be honest and accountable, and he wanted to get in front of the media before they made up whatever they thought would sell.  If he was going to be in the public eye, it would be on his terms.

At first he talked about the recovery process itself – drying out, the process of therapy, what it was like to not leave the grounds – but eventually he talked about what led him there.  He talked, in general terms, about the physical and emotional abuse he suffered all his life, about the grief of losing his mom, about using alcohol as a way to cope.  As the days wore on, he spoke about the driving incident with Sam.  He assumed he’d get a lot of backlash on that one, but people were surprisingly kind.  He spent the next couple of videos talking about how he was processing that kindness and whether he really deserved it.  He talked about his love and appreciation of his family and friends.

Each MTC show brought a new song of hope.  Dean noticed the pattern.  It gave him strength.

***

_From Charlie 8:45 a.m.:  Have you watched Dean’s video?  It’s so sweet OMG_

**Dean’s Video Therapy 10/26/15**

“Hey guys.  Got my acoustic with me today.  Um, today I wanted to thank my band.  You guys have been with me through everything.  I could not have done this without you, seriously.  Ash and Benny, you’ve always kept me laughing and you know how to call me out on my bullshit, and you are worthy opponents on our game system on all those long days on the bus, and I miss you, brothers.  Charlie, we have awesome talks, and you always help me look for the positive, and you valiantly put up with four gross boys, and I miss you, sis.  And Cas… Cas, you fucker.  There’s literally nothing I can say to capture it all.  All of our talks, everything you’ve done for me to challenge me and make me a better man than I ever dreamed of being… I miss you.”  Dean took a deep breath and continued, “This is ‘On the Way Down’ by Ryan Cabrera.  It pretty much says everything.  You guys caught me and didn’t let go, even when I fought you, and I just wanted to say I know what you did for me, and thank you.”

 

_On the way down_

_I saw you_

_And you saved me from myself_

_And I won’t forget the way you loved me_

_And on the way down_

_I almost fell right through_

_But I held on to you_

Castiel couldn’t stop smiling all day.

***

_From Charlie 7:22 a.m.:  Have you watched Dean’s video yet holy shit you need to Cas like drop what you’re doing and watch it NOW OMG call me when you’re done_

Strange, Cas thought, his brow furrowed.  She knew he always watched it, but Dean didn’t usually post this early.  He thumbed to the website and braced himself on his elbows to watch as he ate a bowl of cereal he’d brought up from the breakfast buffet in the hotel lobby.  He hadn’t felt like eating breakfast with everyone else downstairs. 

 

**Dean’s Video Therapy 10/29/15**

“Hey guys, Dean here.  Um, so as you guys heard from my other vlogs or whatever the fuck these things are called, if you’re following along, um… I’ve been learning about the power of words and how to put words to what I’ve been feeling or what’s happened to me.  I’ve learned that words can be really hurtful.  But I’ve also learned that they can really make you feel accepted, and cared for, and not alone.  So… um, my therapist said that people who’ve been abused and people who are children of alcoholics have a skewed sense of what normal and healthy are, and how much variety there really is out there that’s still considered normal.  Like, everything’s on a spectrum.  So, like, okay, this is gonna be hard and I don’t know if you wanna hear about it but… um, so for a long time I wasn’t sure how I felt, uh, sexually, and that was probably because of all the shit I got from my father.  And so, after having a clear head for a while and talking it out with my therapist, and after looking back at all the conversations I’ve had with friends about this stuff and, you know, certain experiences, I finally have some words for who I am sexually.  I don’t wanna put labels on it per se, because it is a continuum, but… so… I am a man, who is attracted mostly to men, but I’m only really interested sexually in people I have a very tight connection with.  So I know that sounds weird, like most people probably are only really interested in people they have close connections with, but for me I’m like, a lot higher on that scale than the average person.  So why am I telling you all this?  Two reasons:  one, I want our fans or any other people watching to know they’re not alone.  There are tons of people who feel that way.  It’s just one of a hundred different ways you can feel about this stuff, and if you feel that way you’re not a freak.  Um, and two, well…”  Dean looked directly into the camera with a tiny smile, “I’m in love.”

Castiel, who’d been smiling softly as his heart swelled with pride, dropped his spoon mid-bite.  Milk splashed on his phone screen and he frantically smeared it around with his sleeve as Dean’s voice continued speaking.  Grunting in frustration, he hit pause on the video and cleaned his phone properly, then backed it up and started the video again.  He paused it once more when Dean looked right at the camera and said “I’m in love.”  He gazed for some time at the green eyes looking back, that eternal summer sparkle in them once again.  He tried to tamp down the bubble of anxiety churning in his gut.  What if he met someone at the rehab and fell for him?   _Don’t assume, Castiel._ He was gonna kill Charlie if this was bad news.  But it wouldn’t be, would it?  He was talking about him, right?  He had to be.  Charlie’s text would’ve sounded different or she would’ve called if it was bad news.  Chewing on his bottom lip, he started the video again.  Dean was beautiful, wearing a teal t-shirt and holding his guitar and grinning that shy, goofy smile that he sometimes did around Castiel, and Cas couldn’t control the nervous smile that crossed his face.

“Yeah.  I’m in love.  I… have been for a long time, I think.  It happened so gradually that I’m not really sure when it began, but that’s how it goes sometimes.  He’s… everything I want, everything I don’t deserve after all this.  But I hope he’s dumb enough to want me anyway.”  He smiled shyly again at the camera and winked, and Castiel laughed quietly through a grin he couldn’t wipe off his face.  “We’ve got stuff to work through.  It’s not like love is gonna save me from myself.  Only I can do that, you know?  But I hope I can earn back his trust and I, uh, I hope maybe he’s in love with me too.  I hope I haven’t ruined my chance.”  Dean’s eyes began to well with tears, but he wiped them away quickly and sang as he picked at his guitar:  

 

_These words are my own_

_From my heart flow_

_I love you I love you I love you I love you_

Dean stopped singing and giggled self-consciously to himself before looking into the camera and smiling.  It’s the same look he would’ve given Cas if they’d been together in the same room, and Cas was struck by how right it felt.  The bubble of anxiety burst and hope blossomed in its place.

“So, yeah, I guess that’s enough true confessions for one day.  Um, I’m not gonna say who the guy I’m talking about is yet, because I really don’t know where he stands on all this, but I am gonna say that he should know who he is and he should call me.  And hey, if you don’t know who you are, man, I’ll give you a hint:  I’ve never looked at a jelly doughnut the same way since that night in the woods.”  Castiel laughed out loud, a mirthful, happy noise he’d forgotten he used to make all the time.  “I love you, sweetheart.”  The video ended. 

 

_From Charlie 8:37 a.m.:  Have you watched it yet what_ _are you waiting for??????_

Cas ignored the text for the moment and selected his contact list, choosing the first name in his favorites list.  It only rang once before the most beautiful voice he’d ever heard was saying his name. 

“Cas?” Dean asked.

“I love you, too, Dean,” Castiel answered, and Dean decided all the hard work, all the heartache and the pain, and any hard work, heartache and pain in the future was all worth it to hear those five words coming from the person he loved the most in this world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs referenced in this chapter:  
> This Is How a Heart Breaks by Rob Thomas  
> What Hurts the Most by Rascal Flatts  
> The King of Wishful Thinking by Go West  
> Let It Be by The Beatles  
> The Space Between by The Dave Matthews Band  
> Call and Answer by Barenaked Ladies  
> Jelly Roll by Blue Murder  
> If You’re Going through Hell by Rodney Atkins  
> On the Way Down by Ryan Cabrera  
> These Words by Natasha Bedingfield


	15. Chapter 15

_November 2015_

They were both too realistic to believe that butterflies would carry them on wings of love and turn all their problems to sugar-spun confections, so Dean and Castiel worked.  They worked individually with their own therapists, exploring their wants and needs, fears and challenges.  They worked together, too.  Castiel attended therapy sessions a few times a week with Dean through teleconferencing.  They fought, they relived past hurts, they visited old and new fears.  They laughingly told the therapist stories about their adventures and their pining and their sorry attempt at trying the friends with benefits arrangement to convince themselves they weren’t falling in love.  In addition to attending therapy together, they spoke every day, sometimes several times a day, just learning how to be Dean and Cas again.  They agreed to resume physical intimacy in their relationship slowly, just because they felt they should.  And Dean and Castiel counted down the days until Dean would be leaving rehab. 

A couple of days before Dean’s discharge, he gave Cas some unwelcome news.

“They think I should stay a little longer,” Dean said during one of their calls. 

“Really?  Fuck,” Cas grumbled.  “I mean, if they think you should, fine, your health is the most important thing.  I just… two days.  We only had two days left.  I even planned to come home right after the London show and pick you up, booked the redeye and everything.”  He sighed as he fiddled with the zipper on his jacket.  “Sorry, babe.  I’m being selfish.”

Dean flitted around the bedroom that he’d called his own for nearly three months.  “We can do this, sweetheart.  It’s just another week.  And hey, gives you a chance to bum around London, right?  You said you always wanted to.  London was even booked last on the tour so you could do that, remember?”

“Yeah, but I wanted to do it with you,” he murmured.  Dean could practically hear the pout on Cas’ lips.  He couldn’t wait to kiss it off him.  

“I know,” Dean soothed.  “But don’t get hung up on that.  I want you to go out and enjoy it.  See the sights.  Piss off the guards at Buckingham.”  He was happy he made Cas chuckle.  “Promise me you’ll stay there and enjoy yourself, okay?  You’ve more than earned it.  Do something for yourself for once.”

“Europe’s more fun with you,” Cas said in a suggestive tone, “but okay, I guess.”

“Good.  I gotta run, but I love you, Cas.”

 Castiel smiled and cuddled the phone to his ear as if he could hug the man on the other end of it.  “I love you too, Dean.  I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon, sweetheart.”  Dean hung up and broke into a wide grin as he turned to Gabriel, who was sitting on his stripped bed. 

Gabe raised his eyebrows.  “Think he bought the whole staying an extra week thing?” 

“I think so,” Dean replied, his grin even larger as he hoisted his duffel bag over his shoulder. “Kinda hate lying to him, though.  We’re doing all this honesty stuff.  It feels weird to deceive him.”

Gabe grinned back and affected a British accent.  “Eh, it’s for a good cause.  Let’s get you discharged.  We have a plane to catch!”

Two days after their conversation and not being able to find his bandmates, who’d all mysteriously disappeared, Cas sat alone in a London restaurant, eating fish and chips and chatting with some of the locals.  They’d thought him curious when he declined the ale they offered, particularly since they were in a pub, but they carried on with good cheer.  A couple of the younger men and their female companions recognized him, but were blessedly calm about it.  He asked them about things he should see while he was in the area and he jotted down the places they mentioned.  They asked him about the tour and about the cover MTC would be performing that night.  He joked that the information was classified.  Eventually, the topic of Dean came up.

“You miss him, hmm?” one woman, Fiona, said.

“Oh yes, we all do,” came his reply.

“But you miss him more, what with you two being in love and all.”  When Castiel scowled, she said smugly, “It’s bloody obvious, you twit.”

Castiel smiled softly.  “It’s not  _that_ bloody obvious,” he said, mimicking her words as his face warmed.

“Oh, it is that bloody obvious,” she laughed, and the entire table, including Castiel, joined her. 

The air felt electrified that night.  It was the last show in a long tour, made even longer by Dean’s absence.  Soon, though, he would hold Dean in his arms again, and this time there would be no need to hide his feelings from Dean – or anyone else.  He closed his eyes and relished the feeling.  The rest of the band was on stage already, beginning an extended, bass-laden intro to “Don’t Tell Me” as they usually did.  It gave Cas a moment to himself to gather the energy and focus he needed for the show, although he didn’t really need it tonight.  He bounced on the balls of his feet in anticipation and slid his hand up and down the neck of his guitar.   As he listened, something sounded wrong.  In the extended intro, they usually kept the bassline going for thirty seconds or so, followed by the drums and tambourine for another thirty before Cas came out.  This was shorter.  The crowd was screaming even more than usual, something that didn’t usually happen until he came on (because that’s when the lights went up).  Shit, lights were already going.  What the hell?  He must’ve gotten caught up in his thoughts.  He ran the few yards between where he’d been waiting and the stage but stopped when he heard it:  the voice over the bassline.  The crowd was deafening as the voice he’d know anywhere sang the opening lines:

 

_Let’s talk about attraction, baby_

_Let’s talk about us_

_Tell me what you want when you see me, honey_

_Tell me what you want_

Cas made it on stage just in time to jump in with the guitar riff that signaled the transition into the next part of the song.  He wore a cocky grin and pretended this was all part of the plan, but his nerves were firing like pistols and he couldn’t stop sneaking glances at Dean.   _He was here.  He was here._   Cas sang backup along with the rest of the band and couldn’t keep the stupid grin off his face when they sang the bridge, then the chorus:

 

_Tell me that you want my body_

_Tell me that you want my face_

_Tell me that you need somebody_

_Tell me this is not a mistake_

_But don’t tell me you love me_

_‘Cause I just couldn’t take it_

_Don’t tell me you love me_

_‘Cause we’re not supposed to mean it_

_You can tell me you need me, you can tell me you care_

_You can tell me you’re not going anywhere_

_But don’t tell me you love me_

_‘Cause I might have to say that I love you, too_

_And I’ll have to admit that it’s the truth_

Meeting up with Benny, Ash and Charlie for lunch had been surprisingly comfortable for Dean.  They had spoken so much on the phone, and had hashed out everything they’d needed to, that meeting up with them in person was simply a joyous reunion.  They reviewed the set list and, because Dean had done a few practices over Skype with everyone, he felt he could get right back into it easily.  He was pleased to know he’d been right.  Now Dean, who had been so nervous about his surprise for Cas, was an arrow, buoyed by the lively air around him but having only one target.  As he sang the song that he and Cas knew they’d subconsciously written about themselves, he looked over at his bandmate, his friend, his boyfriend.  Castiel seemed to be floating on the collective energy of the audience and maybe, Dean hoped, on the energy of being together once again.  Dean finally caught Castiel’s eyes.  No one missed the way they turned toward each other and smiled as they sang the words at the end of the first chorus. 

When the song was over, Dean stood and looked at Cas across the stage, sweating and trembling, hoping he’d done the right thing.  Cas glanced at him, then shook his head at the audience and smiled shyly, as if overwhelmed.  “That fucker,” he said, pointing toward Dean, “didn’t tell me he was going to be here tonight.”  The audience screamed their enthusiastic approval.  He placed his guitar on the floor and turned toward Dean, still speaking into the mic so Dean could hear him.  “Get the fuck over here, asshole, I fuckin’ missed you.”  The roar of the audience was muted in Castiel’s mind by the glow of Dean’s perfect face as he dropped his own guitar and strode purposefully toward him.  Cas met him in the middle in an embrace, jokingly (but not really) wrapping his legs around Dean’s waist and letting Dean spin him around. 

At the encore, Dean broke out his other surprise. 

“So guys,” he addressed the crowd, “For those of you who don’t know, I’ve been in recovery from an alcohol addiction.  It’s been hard, but you know, so far so good.  I’m three months clean and sober today.”  The audience whistled and applauded.  “I became addicted because I was trying to forget the abuse and the negative thoughts I’ve experienced.  Um, I’ve always thought of the negative thoughts and the alcohol as things that kind of lurked around, like a predator, a wolf just waiting to bring me down.  So this next song reminds me of me, and my struggle with alcohol, and of Castiel.”  Dean turned and smiled nervously at Cas, who regarded him curiously.  “There were times when I think Cas wasn’t sure where he stood in my life, and, um, I just wanted him to know exactly where he stands.  Where he’s always stood, for me.  So I want to tell him, and tell all of you.”  He held his guitar up and he and Benny began the first notes of the song.  “I gotta change the words around a little to fit our situation.  Sorry, Cas, I know you hate that.  And, uh, sorry, Mumford & Sons,” Dean smiled cheekily.   

Cas was grateful that his fingers could work independently of his brain, because he was dumbfounded.  He’d been playing this song on repeat lately but hadn’t really connected it to them.  He caught only a few pieces of the lyrics Dean sang –

 

_And the tightrope that I wander every time_

_I have been weighed, I have been found wanting_

\-- before he took over with his own guitar after the chorus.  He played through without processing the words at first, lost in his own thoughts, hopes, imagination.  The second verse started to make more sense –

 

_Sheltered, I’m gonna keep the wolf back from the door_

_He wanders ever closer every night_

_And how he waits begging for blood_

_I promise you everything will be fine_

\-- and Cas was able to sing along to the revised chorus:

 

_I’ll leave behind my wanton ways_

_I want to learn to love in kind_

_‘Cause you were all I ever longed for_

And now it started to make sense.  This was Dean’s story, his confession, his admission of love to everyone who was listening. 

As if reading Castiel’s mind, Dean approached him and placed an arm on his shoulder, hand cupping his neck. He prayed that Cas understood what he was trying to say – how much he loved him, how sorry he was, how he would never do anything to hurt him again.  He locked his eyes onto Cas’ and begged:

 

_Hold my gaze love, you know I want to let it go_

_We will stare down at the wonder of it all_

_And I will hold you in it, I will hold you in it_

_Been wondering for days_

_How I felt you slip my mind_

_I’ll leave behind my wanton ways_

_I want to look you in the eye_

_Cause you were all I ever longed for_

Cas was a boat with an anchor named Dean – floating but with no fear or intention of floating away.  Dean was an anchor with a boat named Cas – a steady presence that kept Cas safe and secure, rather than a weight dragging him under to drown.  They sang the final chorus together, never looking at the audience.  After the final note, Dean asked Cas a question with his eyes.  Castiel answered him by pulling him in and kissing him – I love you too, I forgive you and I’m sorry too, I trust you.  They pulled apart and smiled giddily. 

“Well, I guess that’s our show, folks,” Ash said into the mic, inciting laughter from the audience and the band, including Cas and Dean.  They gave each other a quick hug before they got back to business, Cas taking up his mic and clapping his hands above his head screaming, “Alright, London, we wanna hear you holler!”

When the concert was over and they said goodbye to their fans and Gabe and each other, Dean pulled Cas into his hotel room with the king bed and no roommates.  They reconsidered their previous decision to postpone physical intimacy, decided that they should still follow it but that kissing didn’t count, and fell asleep in each other’s arms after reacquainting themselves to each other’s mouths. 

After a blissful week in London (and two online therapy sessions with their therapist as part of Dean’s aftercare), they once again reconsidered their previous decision to postpone physical intimacy, decided to go with their usual “fuck it” philosophy, and made love most of their last day in England.  It was freer, easier, more fun, and more intimate than it had ever been, and they could finally say what each of them had been secretly thinking during most of their previous encounters:

“Love you, Dean.”

“Love you, Cas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs referenced in this chapter:  
> Don’t Tell Me by the author  
> The Wolf by Mumford & Sons


	16. Chapter 16

_June 2017_

“Fuck we’ve been spoiled,” Dean groaned as he rolled over, pulling the sheets with him. 

“Quit your crying.”

“You… quit cryin’.”

“Ooh, make sure you add that one to the  _Best Comebacks Ever_  book you’re writing.”

Cas earned a pillow to the head.  He snagged it before Dean could pull it back and bopped him with it before throwing it to the floor.  “You want coffee?” he said quietly as he draped himself across Dean’s back and breathed him in.

“Uh-uh.”

“No coffee?”

“No.  Sleep.  Bed.  You.”

“That would be nice,” Cas said as he pressed every inch of skin he could against Dean’s sleep-warmed body, “but we have a lot to do today.”  He kissed his ear and rolled away, strutting naked toward the kitchen.  A few minutes later, he returned with two cups of French roast.  He put them on the dresser, far from the bed, then ran and jumped onto it, bouncing wildly over and over and startling Dean from sleep.  “Get up, get up, get up!”

“Motherfucker,” Dean grumbled as he tried to swat at Cas’ legs.  Cas nimbly avoided him.

“No, I’m a Deanfucker.  Now get up, gorgeous.  First show tonight.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes.  “Fine.  On one condition.”  He beckoned Cas toward him with his hands, and Cas bounced himself gracelessly onto his knees and boxed Dean in between his arms. 

“Yes, my love?”

Dean leered at his boyfriend and wiggled his eyebrows.  The coffee grew cold.

Castiel and Dean met up for dinner with Benny and his girlfriend Andrea, Charlie and her girlfriend Dee (she hated the formality of her given name, Dorothy), and Ash and his girlfriend Pam.  During the year they’d had off from touring, all of them had been able to carve out a little bit of a home life, which gave each of them the opportunity to find someone with whom to share their time.  Castiel and Dean, of course, brought their home life with them, which was the source of a little bit of wistfulness from the others.  The one thing Dean regretted they couldn’t bring was their new home, a modest two bedroom brownstone in Bed-Stuy.  Sam and Gabe, along with their girlfriends, had taken over the apartment Dean and Cas had once shared. 

The other couples said their goodbyes while Cas and Dean trotted onstage to prepare for sound check.  Cas snuck an arm around Dean’s waist and pulled him into a side-hug.  “Are you happy with me?” he asked worriedly.

Dean scowled and scoffed.  “Of course I am, Cas.  You know that.”  Dean wrapped his arms around his boyfriend and turned him until they were face to face.  “Where’s this coming from?”

Cas smiled fondly at him.  “Just making sure.”  He winked and tried to sound like he was joking, but he sounded nervous.  “I’ve been told I’m kind of a hard ass.”

“No, you misheard.  You  _have_  a hard ass.”  He smacked his ass as if to prove his point, making Cas laugh, then smiled affectionately and leaned his forehead against Cas’.  “You never have to worry about that.  I’m right where I want to be.” 

“Mmm.  Good,” Cas replied and pulled him into a hug. 

They loved playing MSG – the noise, the vibe, the hometown feel – and usually preferred to start their tours there if they had the choice.  This tour was no different.  With several hits and three successful albums, the band was confident their  _Redemption_  tour would be just as successful as the rest.  But Castiel was nervous in a way Dean had never seen before, and he’d known the man a long time.  Every time he tried to ascertain what was wrong, though, Cas chalked it up to new tour jitters.  Dean remembered that Cas once told him he used to vomit before each performance.  Maybe that was making a comeback.  He certainly looked a little green in the gills.  But when the show started, Cas performed like a champion, and Dean figured he worked it out. 

They started the encore with “Traffic,” then did an alt cover of the song “The Way I Am.”  Dean laughed when Cas peeked over at him as he sang the line about Rogaine.  When the song was over, Cas quieted the crowd.

“Alright, everyone, gather ‘round.  Uncle Castiel has a story to tell you.  But please consider me your nice uncle, not your skeevy one, okay?”  The audience laughed at the joke and Cas grinned.  “Okay, so did I ever tell you I had a crush?”  The crowd cheered loudly and his bandmates looked on curiously.  He’d never talked about his crush, no matter how much they’d badgered him.  Cas took a deep breath and continued, “So when I was 16, I volunteered for the summer at an arts camp for youth at the community center in Hoboken, about half an hour from where we lived.  I taught music in the morning and dance in the afternoon.  Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, but I’m one graceful fucker.”  He laughed and gyrated his hips amid laughter and whistles.  Dean played a wolf whistle on his guitar and Cas winked at him.  Dean fondly remembered his own time spent with kids at a day camp in Hoboken, but not as a student.  He wished he’d had the opportunity. 

“Anyway, the lunches were brought in by this catering company.  I usually brought my own lunch and took a break away from the kids during that time, but every day I had to sneak a peek at the hot guy serving lunches.  Not only did he look good, but he was so friggin’ nice to the kids and everyone else, and he had a great laugh.  And I never had the guts to say anything to him, but in my head I had this mixtape of sorts, just songs or little moments that reminded me of him, and I started to write about it.  Oh yeah, and I named our band in honor of my crush.”

Huh, Dean thought to himself, that sounded like a summer job he had when he was…  _oh shit_. _No way._

“And when I saw him again the following year at the camp, I decided to ask around and I found out where he went to school, and it was in my town.  My senior year of high school, after being home schooled for several years, I decided to go back to public school.  For obvious reasons.”  He wiggled his eyebrows and the crowd cheered as Benny beat a short  _ba-da-ba_  on the drums.  “We weren’t in any classes together first semester, but we had a Creative Writing class together our second semester.  And you know what?  I still didn’t talk to him,” he admitted shyly to a chorus of  _awws_  from the audience.  “But then he walked into my house to audition for MTC, and I had to talk to him.  And damn it, the fucker was talented, which sucked for me because I had to put on my big boy pants and get over myself.  So he joined MTC, and the rest, as they say, is history – and a song many years in the making.”  He looked at Dean with glistening eyes, and Dean blinked away his own tears and smiled. 

Turning to the audience, Cas continued, “You know, we still play covers at shows because sometimes others have written the words we relate to, and we honor that.  But sometimes, we just say it better ourselves.”  He took a breath and announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, this is ‘Mixtape for My Teenage Crush.’”

The audience roared as Cas began the opening chords, the rest of the band following closely behind.  They had practiced this song so many times that they all knew it by heart, even if they never heard the words because Cas had always hummed them. 

_I saw you there and you never knew me_

_Stood nearby and I didn’t want you to see_

_You were the puzzle piece that fit my heart_

_I was resigned that we would stay apart, but_

_I’m not the type to let a chance go by_

_And when you sang to me about my eyes_

_I knew right then that I would make you mine_

_All I needed was a little time, yeah_

_This is a mixtape for my teenage crush_

_A string of moments, make me cover my blush_

_A song for when you took my breath away_

_A song about how bad I wanted you to stay_

_Another for the time you came to me_

_And one for when I tried to hide but you wouldn’t leave_

_For all the things that we’ve been through_

_I made this mixtape for you_

Cas could barely keep his eyes off Dean – which Dean knew because his eyes never moved from Cas.  He smiled widely at Dean before he continued:

 

_Our friendship grew beyond the bounds we’d made_

_Tried to keep my feelings buried deep in the shade_

_But all our friends and family knew_

_Though we denied it, it was us who didn’t have a clue_

_You laughed and told me you don’t put out on a first date_

_Said I was patient, I was willing to wait, but_

_The night we kissed I felt just like a virgin_

_And when I looked at you I knew I was all in_

_This is a mixtape for my teenage crush_

_A string of moments no one else can ever touch_

_A song for doughnuts filled with strawberry jam_

_A song to show you that I give a damn, oh_

_Another for the fun we’ve had_

_And another when we’re feeling sad_

_For all the things that we’ve been through_

_I made this mixtape for you_

Cas transitioned into the bridge –

 

_I never thought that you would be_

_More than a silly teenage fantasy_

_Now you’re in my arms and I want you to know_

_That I never want to let you go…_

 

\-- and into his guitar solo, closing his eyes to the sudden rush of elation threatening to spill down his face.  Dean didn’t bother hiding his joy.  He laughed to himself as he silently reflected on how many times they’d played this song in practice, how they’d gotten to know the song without words so well that they could provide the proper oohs and ahhs as backup vocals.  He’d never suspected it had been about him.  And those words… they were perfect.  Cas slowed down the next words, looking at Dean as he did so:

 

_This is a mixtape about you and me_

_Who we are and everything that we could be_

_About the love that we’ve made together_

_And when I think of you I think forever_

Dean found himself pausing as Cas once again raised the energy and speed into the lyrics, taking it toward the end, unable to even sing backup with his bandmates.  What did Cas mean by forever? 

 

_This is a mixtape for my teenage crush_

_About a little crush that turned to love_

_About the days I feel like I’m free fallin’_

_About the nights when it’s your name I’m callin’_

_The moments that we thought we’d fall apart_

_The moments that we never wanted to part_

_Our past, our present and our future, too_

_All our sweat and tears_

_Our hopes and fears_

_Wanna spend my years with you…_

_With you…_

_This is a mixtape for my teenage crush_

_My one true love who makes the blood in my body rush_

_There’s nothing else that I would rather do_

_Then cry our tears_

_And face our fears_

_And spend my years with you_

_‘Cause I still have a crush on you_

The roar of the crowd was earsplitting as the band finished the song with a resounding final note of crashing guitar and drums.  Dean never felt the stage under his feet as he dropped his guitar and ran to Cas, who’d already handed his off to Ash, and leaped into his arms.  Cas laughed as he dropped Dean to the floor and held his hips as he gazed at him in adoration.  Dean knew he must have the same dopey look on his own face.

“Cas?” Dean said cautiously, hardly daring to hope that there was a question in all of the words Cas sang to him, the words he’d worked on for years.

Cas smiled with bright, sincere eyes and moved his hands to cradle Dean’s face.  “Marry me,” Cas shouted over the din of the crowd.

Dean, overwhelmed with emotion, shouted back with a teasing sparkle in his eyes, “Aren’t you supposed to get on your knee or something?”

“Aren’t I on my knees enough for you, you fucker?” Cas laughed as he smoothed Dean’s eyebrows with his thumbs.  “Take it or leave it.”

“Alright, I’ll take it, asshole,” Dean smiled through tears and placed his own hands on Cas’ stubbled jaw.  “Oh God, Cas, I love you, fuck,” he said as he lost his composure and crumpled into his new fiancé’s arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song referenced in this chapter:  
> Mixtape for My Teenage Crush by the author


End file.
